


65 roses (breathe me)

by seoulfulnights



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Changki Bingo, Coming of Age, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, M/M, Medical Trauma, Near Death Experiences, Social Issues, Terminal Illnesses, cystic fibrosis, please read the tw inside
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seoulfulnights/pseuds/seoulfulnights
Summary: When his chest feels tight and he can’t breathe, Kihyun likes to think there are flowers growing inside his lungs. A much prettier image than the truth. One day, he runs into a boy whose lungs are a garden and in that maze Changkyun becomes his white blood, circulating the right love to heal Kihyun’s sprained soul. There’s only one rule: they cannot touch. Apart at all times, six feet between them feel like six feet under, buried in a coffin. A bite from the forbidden fruit could be his escape for now but what of when it all crumbles down?





	1. the first breath

**Author's Note:**

> [changki bingo| LVL2 card B| sick fick/illness]
> 
> before each point, there's the title of a song. you can listen to the full playlist [ here ](https://open.spotify.com/user/31kvjj2jmpuu4foy3ucx5uzr23ta/playlist/0i5IgUx93vb7aUGbPtGoYG?si=Ba-jG_CqQCOQWLZ4SXPRnw)

  
  
🌹🌹🌹

 

This fic deals with the complexity of enduring a terminal illness so be aware of the following **trigger warnings.** There is a lot of discussion surrounding the concept of **death** ** _,_** mentions of **suicidal thoughts, depression, some sort of eating disorder, description of hospital trauma, near death experiences, out of body experiences, drug-induced hallucinations, bullying, unhealthy and self-destructive coping mechanisms, implied selfharm. None of these are condoned or promoted, so please view them with a critical eye.**

This story is also semi-autobiographical and based on real-life experiences. The illness, cystic fibrosis, is in no way romanticized or glamorized but presented as I myself have struggled with it for the past two decades and I think others who suffer from similar conditions might emphasize a lot with this. Unlike the recently screened _Five feet apart_ , I wanted to show the actual ugly side of this disease that is not just hospitalizations and accepting an early death. However, this is such a complex condition that every patient can have a completely different story and all those points of view are valid. This one is mine. And last but not least, this has been used as a cathartic experience for me.

 

Therefore, if you feel uncomfortable with the heavy angst presented, please do **NOT** proceed to read. Thank you.

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

_  
medicine - daughter_

 

In and out until the vapors reach the bottom of his lungs, in and out his whole chest vibrates and his ribs expand until the muscles hurt, in and out until his nostrils are so irritated they bleed. Kihyun pauses his nebulizer again, the new antibiotics stirring up a nastier cough than what his abdomen is used to and while he reaches for a tissue to expectorate the thick green mucus nestling in his bronchioles, he wonders in passing if all these breathing will give him abs.

 

It’s a thought that comes and goes every flu season when his throat stings and his voice goes hoarse, but the ugly layer of fat still clings to his stomach. If somebody would be kind enough to listen he’d explain that no, he’s not really chubby and his body mass index is _just fine_ , yet his body functions in such a way he’s always bloated. In the end though, _bloated_ is a word even uglier than _fat_ so he doesn’t bother to make the others literate about his condition. When people see him coughing and give him mean looks, when they suggest with superiority that he should go see a doctor and get that checked, when they take a step back in fear of getting something contagious – when the only one legitimately in danger of catching a virus is him, then Kihyun feels like giving up on humanity as a whole.

 

“Shit,” he mumbles, inspecting the splatters of blood mixed in with the disgusting phlegm. His bronchioles have overexerted themselves to the point they’ll surely start hemorrhaging all on their own soon and Kihyun can already feel himself choking on the blood filling up his lungs. He takes a deep breath, and it hurts. To soothe his aching throat, even slightly if possible, he takes small sips of his honeyed tea. It feels warm like a hug and he cracks a tiny smile at the sweet taste before bracing himself and finishing the godforsaken Tobramycin. He doesn’t even have _Pseudomonas_ festering away in his chest, but his _Staphylococcus aurelius_ has grown multi-resistant to most antibiotics (whether pills or IVs) and the doctor suggested it in a desperate attempt to at least help keep his lung function as it is.

 

Two deep inhales of the terrible aerosol and he already feels like shutting off the noise machine again. However, if he keeps taking breaks every two seconds it would take hours to finish all the solution and he’s already so tired after school he just wants to go to sleep. His mother will come check on him in a bit, Kihyun supposes, and he doesn’t wanna hear her nagging about wasting away money and letting the medicament go bad by being exposed too much to the room air. Yet only a few minutes later he hears his mother’s phone ringing, the cringy cartoon ringtone reaching even his room through the closed door. “Hello? Ah, I’m glad to hear from you. How is Changkyun doing?”

 

Kihyun pauses his nebulizer once more, this time to eavesdrop on what his mother’s saying on the phone, the muffled words blurred even more by the vibrating apparat. The evening news are still dulled in the background while she’s speaking to Mrs. Lim about Changkyun’s latest hospitalization probably. His grandma is preparing a late dinner for them all in the kitchen and he expects to receive a slice of pie when she comes to see if he managed to finish his arithmetics homework. Scowling at the gridded paper, he tiptoes to his door and glues his ear to the glass. Numbers are definitely nothing as interesting as what his mother’s saying so Kihyun tries to make up lines and pieces of dialogue, enough to figure out the epilogue of the other boy’s latest adventure. His chest feels tight thinking about the younger suffering but in a different way then when it’s been raining for days and the humidity makes him feel heavy.

 

He hopes the boy’s lung capacity hasn’t dropped drastically again, the simple cold could do that to them after all. Even after an intense cure of antibiotics (honestly, few of the ones still available to go against the bacteria coiling in his bronchia), Kihyun still couldn’t breathe like he used to and his doctor already recommended he get an oxygen tank soon. He’s just sixteen yet his lungs are more deteriorated than a chain smoker’s who’s been going through a pack a day for the last four decades. There’s more white than black in his latest x-rays and his medical team is considering a transplant, which Kihyun is vehemently against. For a sixteen-year-old, or rather like all sixteen-year-olds, he’s got it all figured out. A transplant is not part of his future curriculum.

 

Like most patients with terminal illnesses, he’s done an immense amount of research on the only freely available and (allegedly) unbiased source: the internet. Browsing forums and medical sites, Kihyun hasn’t found much encouraging if at all. Without a transplant, he has a chance to see his 35th birthday. With the transplant, if the new organs don’t get rejected, he may be given five more years. Five more years of intense pain and agony and living in the hospital even more than he already does. There’s not much of a choice to Kihyun, he’d rather take himself out the Hemingway way. A nice bullet planted in the heart, a metaphor of sorts of winning over the unbeatable disease. He’d rather die of suicide than cystic fibrosis.

 

Changkyun gets treated by the same doctor and from what he gathered, the kid is a much luckier case than he is. Actually, all children with cystic fibrosis in their area get treated by the same doctor yet Changkyun feels special to him somehow. He doesn’t know what the boy looks like on the outside, but he has a lot of knowledge about his insides for sure. Fourteen, with a shrunken pancreas and a colony of Pseudomonas residing in his lungs. Finally, someone with whom he can share his hate towards Tobramycin. Changkyun recently had his nasal polyps removed and claimed to have been breathing better but the changing weather got him sick easily – way too easily – and things escalated to pneumonia easily.

 

‘ _I’ve had pneumonia a few times, it’s not that harsh. I still could go to school_ ’, his cousin once said when his aunt brought him over for lunch. _Yeah, but unlike you, I can die from one_ , Kihyun wanted to reply but bit his tongue. No sense in lashing out at people who don’t understand, who aren’t _willing_ to even _try._ People who don’t even care about how much harm they could cause others, be it with their words or actions. He instead tried to politely suggest to that hyung of his how wearing a mask is the best, how it would protect both him and people around, and his mother looked almost grateful for his rare moment of diplomacy. Bringing up death is a touchy subject around family. He’d have to wait for the next lunch break to crack some self-deprecating jokes about his impending early decease in the school cafeteria.

 

Perhaps it’s because their mothers were talking all the time, sharing analyses results and news on possible treatments, complaining about the nurses who sting their children five times before they draw blood and not even then it’s concluded for running tests, commenting on various doctors from private clinics where they went just in case the main system missed on something. Maybe this makes Changkyun all that much important to Kihyun. They’re not friends though. Not quite, the way he sees it, the two of them are more like allies in suffering. Many times Kihyun noticed that not even his mother who’s been there since day one, since the day he was born with defect lungs, not even she understands the expense of pain the illness burdens him with. Mental, physical, emotional, Kihyun felt like a wreck waiting for the iceberg to sink him to the bottom of the ocean. He’s sure he’s but a few infections away from that critical point.

 

When you suffer from a rare disease, chances are that the only one who could actually understand all your angst and frustration and sorrow is somebody who’s just as cursed as yourself. But Kihyun and Changkyun never talked in person, they never even exchanged a couple of texts. It’s true they wish each other happy birthday through their moms, celebrating existence and the feat of surviving another year just one month apart, and they do take interest in the other’s fate. Or at least Kihyun does, he’s never asked whether Changkyun ever wondered about how his hyung is doing. They could easily get in touch through social media but Kihyun never dared to look Changkyun up, even though he knows his full name and the school where he’s going and how he tried picking up swimming last year but couldn’t hold up to the effort.

 

Hearing his mother talk about how Mrs. Lim and her husband are not sure if Changkyun should go to a public high school next autumn gives him the needed nudge to reach out. His family, meaning his mother and dear granny, also faced the same difficult decision two years ago when mornings became too rough for him to get up and attend classes, yet Kihyun insisted he wants to continue and finish school like any other normal child his age. _It’s the_ _only thing that makes me feel normal,_ he pleaded, voice broken and desperate to cling to the sole factor that brought some stability to his life. No school meant no ties to any kind of social world and Kihyun would rather face his bullies for four more years than stay locked in his room, in this safe bubble his mother is so hopelessly trying to encapsulate him in.

 

The boy picks his nebulizer back up as soon as he hears his mother say goodbye and hopes she didn’t notice his pretty long break as he’s not in the mood to hear her talk about how expensive this medicine is and how it shouldn’t stay in the open for more than absolutely necessary. He’s never in the mood to hear that he’s just a waste of money and air. It’s a speech he’s been given exactly ten thousand times and each time it becomes more annoying and irritating. And when he thinks he’s about to snap and tell her to just shut up because he’s got it, _he’s got it_ , then his mom also reminds him how in just two more years, Kihyun will have to go to the adults clinic, where there is no specialized doctor in his disease and he’ll be tossed around like some guinea pig. Nobody cares about childhood illnesses once you reach adulthood.

 

_A miracle to have survived for so long._

_Should have died ages ago._

_Be glad you had such a long life and enjoy what you can of the rest._

_We can’t do much but try to delay_ it.

 

These are all phrases he’s been told all too often. The first time, he was just six. His doctor, an old man thin on top and with ugly liver flecks all over his wrinkled face and hands, warned his teary mother how she should probably have another child since this one _won’t last long_ . “He’s going to die before he turns ten, ma’am.” But against all odds, Kihyun’s tenth anniversary found him healthier than ever, the kid happy and smiling in his soccer game photos. Still, at the monthly checkup the new, slightly younger and this time female doctor said he’s had good luck and, “Let’s pray he reaches twelve.” For the following years, Kihyun’s been exposed to an array of expressions, his favorite of course being ‘ _you’ve been born in the wrong country_ ’ or ‘ _at least you don’t have cancer_ ’.

 

Changkyun accepts his friend request fast, before Kihyun finishes his last aerosol for the night. As most spoonies, the boy is probably always online, a bad habit Kihyun shares. The younger is also the one to start a conversation first, awkward in the beginning because how do you even approach somebody whose diagnosis you know very well but actually know nothing about as a person. But a _hi_ now and a _hello_ later resulted soon into a _today I managed to go out for a long walk_ or a _let’s netflix and chill together later._ For the first time since he could remember, Kihyun felt like he had a friend. Not one of those like his classmates with whom he played Overwatch or copied homework from or shared snacks. But a friend who cared if his chest hurt more than usual and could empathize knowing exactly what sudden jabs in your rib cage could do to your day.

 

_waves - dean lewis_

  
 

‘ _let’s meet after school’_

 

Kihyun stares at the text, mouth slightly agape as he puts down his banana protein shake, the new bane of his existence. For somebody who struggled all his life to keep his weight to a normal standard, to hide his protruding belly with highwaist jeans and suck in his tummy when strangers passed by, at the age of almost seventeen Kihyun found himself suddenly underweight. In retrospective, it’s a natural aspect of cystic fibrosis, the disease does fall under malnutrition among others. _It falls under everything you want_ , Kihyun thinks bitterly, anything besides cognitive affections. Still, this abrupt change could signify only one thing: his sharp ribs poking through his thin shirt are a mark of his deteriorating condition. Now, he has to drink disgusting pulvers mixed with milk to gain back all the pounds lost, despite this being the first time he feels satisfied with his looks. It fits his teenage anguish aesthetic quite well.

 

‘ _you mean today? where?’_

 

Changkyun’s aesthetic is far darker than his own. Combat boots, striped turtlenecks under band tees, and ripped jeans no matter if he was out and about in town or heading to school, the uniform jacket’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He and Changkyun have been talking for about a year at this point, sometimes facetiming, sometimes jumping on rabbit to marathon tv shows together. In the rough nights one of them was stuck in ICU due to their lungs acting up, the other stayed glued to his phone til dawn to make sure the death creeping about the section doesn’t throw a damper on his friend’s already infirm mood. Friends. Kihyun liked to believe Changkyun thought of him as a friend, not just a shoulder to cry on when cf made itself more pronounced. Considering the unexpected invitation to meet in real life, it’s very likely the case.

 

‘ _yea or if you prefer tomorrow? there’s this bistro next to my school’_

 

The brain is the only organ not affected by this plague he and Changkyun were born with, a blessing of sorts that let them enjoy the academic world as long as attendance is not a mandatory factor. He’s never shown signs of dyslexia before so it makes no sense when the words simply float around his eyes without linking together in a rational sentence. As though all his reading abilities have been whipped out of his brain, Kihyun goes through that simple line over and over until he feels pathetic for not giving any sort of reply. Still, the thing is he never met someone with cystic fibrosis in real life before. Whenever he had to go to a checkup, everyone made sure he came in no contact with other patients. The most basic rule when you had cf is that you’re not allowed to be close with any other cf-er and a distance of at least six feet apart must be held at all costs.

 

Everyone is scared of them when they cough in public, when they look pale and they’re wheezing, when they’re about to pass out because they had to run just a few meters. The constant stigma of being ‘contagious’ and a danger for others, like apparently any sick person in the collective mind, easily turns them into outcasts. Surely, if you’re uninformed – and really, everyone is when it comes to cf – all the physical manifestations, few for an invisible illness, could get people into thinking about worst case scenarios of TBC or other red lights. However, at the end of the day, everyone is safe if they come in contact with a cystic fibrosis patient. Everyone but fellow cf-ers. It can get quite lonely, being a unicorn in a drove of horses, but coming across another unicorn could kill you. Kihyun scoffs. Everyone could kill you and one day, Kihyun too will be six feet apart from every living human so why not break at least this one rule?

 

_‘text me the address and i’ll head out in an hour’_

 

For a couple of months now, Kihyun has been homeschooled, not being able to keep up with any of the institutions he’s been attending. At the end of the month, he always somehow gathered more absences in comparison to his actual attendance and no teachers accepted that – especially since he didn’t even look sick at all to them. And if he was truly so sick then he should just stay at home for the time being, away from all the healthy children. Tired of fighting with principals and unsympathetic pedagogues, his mother listened and withdrew her son out of the system at the end of 10th grade. A prolonged summer vacation in the beginning that Kihyun quickly saw through. Of course, he has no more stress about grades or homework or quizzes overall, and only has to go take a couple of exams every few months so he can still graduate like the rest. It all seemed greatly simplified until he tried to study for real by himself, with no professor giving him assignments or guiding him in the right direction. Not to mention how all his old classmates suddenly forgot about his existence and probably have his chat muted, in case he asks again how to solve that physics equation.

 

Right now he was supposed to be ticking off some book on the mandatory reading list he’s been given, but he’d much rather go drink a coffee with Changkyun. Perhaps the bistro even offers cakes or, his favorite, tiramisu with real coffee and real sponge fingers. After Changkyun texts him the address and says he’ll meet him there, Kihyun ravishes his closet in search of a decent outfit. Just because the boy is younger than him is no excuse for Kihyun to slack and not give a good first impression, or technically second. Seeing each other through a webcam, sending embarrassing photos with their nebulizers that could easily be considered obscene, talking about some very personal issues, all this brought the two closer in the past months. It’s nothing to compare with real life though, if Kihyun remembers his short and poor experience on Tinder earlier in the year. And frankly, he’d rather forget all about it.

 

By the time he gets on the subway, he’s got five hours left to be home and have all his chores completed before his mother comes home from work. Usually, he’s stuck with his grandmother during the week, but sweet granny Yoo went to visit her sister at the countryside for a couple of days, taking advantage of her grandson feeling somewhat healthy lately. They all expect a new respiratory inflammation around his birthday though – always around his birthday – the cold humid weather meant to just ruin any progress made by new antibiotics and tank his lung function even lower than ever. It’s but the natural endeavor and life reminding him that things will only get worse each year. To avoid getting anything prematurely and ruin his ‘birthday gift’, he makes sure to wear a fluffy scarf and a thick sweater for protection, the combination looking quite chich in his full-length mirror when he checks it. He inspects it quite compulsively all the way to the rich neighborhood Changkyun linked him.

 

It’s easy to forget Changkyun comes from a well off family living in a lovely suburban condo in Cheongdam, his father teaching at a prestigious university when he’s not too occupied with scientific research and his mother owning a small chain of boutiques. They couldn’t be more different when comparing their situations and Kihyun’s almost scared he’ll have to give his full allowance for one boba drink today, but the sacrifice is worth it. Meeting Changkyun in flesh and blood is, even if he didn’t admit it to himself until today, something he’s been looking forward to for a while now. Fixing his image one last time in the storefront of a bakery, Kihyun looks around at all the people sneezing and coughing on the street. Maybe it would have been better to wear a mask, flu season is in full bloom but masks aren’t that attractive. Doesn’t that make him a hypocrite when just days ago he was complaining to his friend about egoistic folks set on infecting everyone just to look good?

 

Spotting Changkyun in the crowded bistro is not a hard task. The place is too crowded for Kihyun’s taste and comes off way too expensive for his wallet, yet he dismisses feeling uncomfortable and throws the younger boy a smile. Changkyun waves from his table at the window, a wide grin mirrored on his face when Kihyun sits down. A bit over five feet between them keeping both safe. “Hey,” Kihyun greats after a moment, the nervous feeling in his stomach not going away any time soon. Instead, it starts stretching all over him when Changkyun’s dimples pop. “Hi,” the younger responds like he did every once in a while in front of the camera. But this is different. They have no more filters between them, no longer any possibility to control what angles to show and what to hide, no more invented excuses to hang up. All hands on the deck, no cards up their sleeve, completely open and vulnerable.

 

“Already ditching your respectable uniform?” the older teases, eying the dejected jacket on the back of Changkyun’s chair. There’s a branded European backpack discarded by their feet and from what Kihyun can tell, the untucked shirt Changkyun’s wearing is also from some high-brand. Surrounded by students attending such an esteemed private school and sitting across from the other boy, Kihyun feels cheap in his jeans and knitted sweater. _We’re the same on the inside_ , comes the reminder when Changkyun reaches for a tissue, a rude cough interrupting his hyung’s question halfway. Kihyun too coughs like that when he gets excited to talk, air not going quite right in his lungs and making him choke on nothing, and the thought of Changkyun being so excited to talk with him he stutters replaces the trying emotions with warmth. “I hate uniforms, they’re labels and people instantly judge you for them. Everyone will assume I’m some spoiled rich kid just because my parents send me to an English school.”

 

“Well, the assumption is not that far off. They even let you dye your hair there,” Kihyun presses, obviously making light of the situation or as light as the ash colored locks let him. After officially leaving school to pursue education on his own terms, Kihyun celebrated by brightening up his dark hair to a medium shade of brown but even that seemed a bit much for his conservative mother. Still, she never imposed herself on him and let her son live as he wanted given his health was not in any danger. Like most single moms do in fact. Or at least that’s Kihyun’s theory, he never met so far someone who’s also been in the mother’s care alone to test it out. He did notice though that he feels much closer to her than other children usually do with their parents. In the past, his deskmate used to tease him a lot, call him a momma’s boy for always replying quickly to the woman’s texts even in the middle of class.

 

However, Kihyun doesn’t think that label fits him. Anyone would answer a desperate mother’s texts to assure her that yes, he’s still breathing and yes, he ate his snack already and no, his cough isn’t worse than it was in the morning, no matter if those statements are true or false. He’s sure Changkyun does the same. “I think they’d let me do anything if my father donates for a new science lab,” the other boy mumbles, looking quite bothered by that notion. Kihyun would normally retort something witty, full of sarcasm and mocking in a friendly manner how privileged and lucky Changkyun is to be brought up in the environment that surrounds him. But he doesn’t. “Did you order already?” he asks instead and makes himself busy by browsing the westernized menu. Just as expected, everything costs more than he’d usually be willing to pay for a simple latte macchiato but the photo with the Italian profiterole makes his mouth water. He’s _definitely_ ordering that, his type-2 diabetes be damned.

 

“No, I have been waiting for you. Don’t you get bored sitting in your room all day?” The question sounds quite rude but this is Im Changkyun he’s talking to so Kihyun knows not to confuse his frankness with disrespect. And he’s also got a very valid point right there, he _is_ bored out of his mind, always alone or with his family. Sure, his granny is a sweet person and makes the best bulgogi one could eat but he misses even the shit bullies used to tell him. That could count as some form of socializing, or at least being emerged in a social circle, and just how fucked up that actually is when he thinks better about it. Does Changkyun deal with that horror too? With having his money stolen, his phone hidden, his lunch taken away, does he get locked in the bathroom or targeted during physical education since he’s the only one sitting on the bench? Does he get threats he’ll get beaten up behind the school if he doesn’t give his homework to others, does he get spit on for being disgusting and ill?

Kihyun’s heart aches remembering those vile smirks, the repulse in his classmates' eyes, the mean comments on his looks and voice and behavior. The remarks on his pale skin that for once one might expect to be complimented giving how many whitening products are on the Korean market, but no, he was _too_ pale and looked odious with deep eyebags and a stark purple undertone. All the times he’s been called a freak for heaving after climbing one floor of stairs, all the times he’s been pushed into trash bins because he should just stay with his boogers. It hasn’t been all bad, Kihyun must be fair and admit as much. He did befriend a few guys and he’s become quite close with Hyungwon in particular over the years but didn’t really keep in touch after dropping out. “Yeah, I guess. Lately I’ve been practicing on my guitar though. I can now play the riff from _Vampires will never hurt you_.” Music has always been something he enjoyed and maybe would try to purse but canto lessons are too expensive - exactly 150 vials of Mucoclear too expensive or three appointments for a CT scan or just half of his prescription after getting discounted too expensive. He felt quite proud of the achievement though, both he and Changkyun being little My chemical romance fanboys undercover.

 

“You’re such a geek,” Changkyun teases and Kihyun can’t tell this time whether it’s light-hearted. “You study physics when you got nothing better to do and then read non-fiction books the rest of the time, don’t you find anything about life enjoyable?” the younger asks. Of course, I do, Kihyun almost bites the bait but he manages to control himself knowing that sudden outbursts are not welcome in public nor at home, it only further pushes him out in his own corner, isolated and alone. Sometimes he forgets Changkyun is two years younger and that means two years less mature, no matter if they are both chronically ill and that greatly ages a person. Sometimes he felt beyond his middle-age crisis point but then he remembers his life expectancy is just thirty-five and half of that is exactly seventeen. “Well, duh,” the older sighs yet he can’t elaborate until after the waitress takes their order. “But it’s the only thing I can do right, you know? I can’t do sports, I can’t do anything that is physical, most of the time I can’t even get out of bed,” speaking so much already makes his breath heavier and he takes a moment to calm his beating heart. “What even do you do in your spare time, kid?”

 

“I hang out with people,” Changkyun shrugs and as to solidify his argument, his phone lights up with a notification. Mister popularity, Kihyun mentally chides but appreciates how the other hasn't picked it up. “There are a few clubs I’m part of at school. Nothing big like hiking or athleticism, you know. But it gets me an excuse to get out of the house and do something else besides treatments for my shitty lungs. The more we stay in, the more we stay in our heads and that’s, that’s scary, don’t you think?” That’s absolutely horrifying, Kihyun agrees, getting self-conscious all of a sudden and pulling at his sweater sleeves. Although he didn’t want to assume anything about why there are so many people eager to spend time with a sickly kid like Changkyun, when the younger puts down his own credit card to pay for the table before Kihyun could even pick his delicious dessert, an idea starts to sketch out by itself. “Yeah, I suppose. Do you wanna play overwatch later though?” Such a contradicting suggestion to everything said previously, but Changkyun doesn’t seem to notice the discrepancy and accepts on the spot.

 

Slowly, they warm up to each other, much like they’ve done months ago online. Changkyun stops throttling on the offensive, his shoulders sunken in a casual stance and elbows resting on the table as he leans in closer to listen to Kihyun’s story. Only four feet between them now. It’s one of the few anecdotes the older hasn’t told him yet, the rare instance where he was allowed to go to a summer camp on the premise to take all his meds on time and not stay around others if they show signs of having the common cold. He almost learned to swim that week after countless attempts leading to almost drowning, and it was the first time in his life Kihyun felt free. Normal, like any other child his age. Naturally, all the intense effort lead to a high fever which made the camp assistants call an ambulance and his mother. Needless to say, that has been his only camp experience but he’s met Hyunwoo there, a nice boy from Seoul who regularly put effort into reaching out and checking if Kihyun was doing well. Rather sweet of him.

 

“I have only been to a science camp once because it was organized by the university my father teaches at, you know.” Kihyun knows by now that ‘you know’ is a speech pattern Changkyun repeats a lot, whether to act like the cool guys in school showing off his English skills or because he was raised bilingual. “It was pretty fun, I liked mixing up stuff to see what will explode,” he grins and Kihyun chuckles. He missed having access to a laboratory and making projects, playing with chemicals under supervision and calculating the force needed to project a ball on a certain trajectory. Like baseball, but on paper and all in maths. His science teacher used to be quite nice until she got pregnant and then an old man with an authoritarian problem replaced her. “Poured too much hydrogen sulfide and ended up with rotten eggs?” Classic noob move.

 

“Yeah, something like that.” The hours pass just as they are, neither faster nor slower, simply real and it brings some sense of normality to Kihyun. To strangers, they're just two boys eating cake and hanging out after school, nothing unusual or remarkable about it. Not long after he finishes his soda, the one Changkyun suggested he get after his coffee mug was left empty, Kihyun pulls back on his jacket and scarf and prepares himself for a long and crowded trip back home with the subway. He really should have grabbed some mask for protection. “Hey,” Changkyun calls out once they step in the much colder afternoon plaza. “Let’s do something this weekend. I’m hanging out with a bunch of guys at the arcade, I think they’d be cool with you.” Plain and simple, much like Changkyun talks in general with him, this is the first invitation for a group gathering that Kihyun received in most likely years and on the same day he’s got coffee with somebody else but his mother. His answer is obvious.

 

And so that weekend he makes up some excuse of meeting up with old classmates for old times’ sake, which would be very beneficial for his homeschooling as well, but in fact he plays _Just Dance_ with Hoseok and _Guitar Hero_ with Jooheon, and all of a sudden his friends’ circle enlarges drastically and he has people under eighty to talk to during the day. It’s a new found happiness he didn’t see coming, not after a somewhat awkward, somewhat alright coffee date with Changkyun, happiness he’d like to share with his mother but he can’t. She would lock him immediately in their twenty-five square meter apartment they own and never let him out until he becomes of age. Hell, she’d probably call Mrs. Lim too and then he can say goodbye for good to his suffering pal. No, this shall remain his little big secret.

 

_to build a home - the cinematic orchestra_

  
 

His grandmother calls it a miracle and thanks heavens for listening to her nightly prayer when Kihyun doesn’t fall sick that winter. No infection, no exacerbation, no over the top cold despite his nose acting more like a faucet than anything else. He spends an ordinary winter, drinking enormous amounts of tea, taking all the vitamins and calcium and omega-3 and all the other supplements his doctor prescribes just in case, dealing with the tasteless protein shakes, decorating the house for the holidays, and spending time with his close family. They visit his aunt and cousins once, a night Kihyun is not too fond of but finds rather agreeable in the end as long as he could sit on his phone and ignore the ruthless boys he’s somehow related to.

 

Changkyun is by far much better company, and so are Hoseok and Jooheon who kept inviting him to the ice rink and the movies and to other fun places while Changkyun has been hospitalized. Seems like the younger took the fall this time and occupied the only bed in the pediatric unit available for kids with cystic fibrosis. One more year and Kihyun won’t have any rights to occupy it at all. The thought terrifies his mother constantly but Kihyun feels relieved to switch doctors. Surely, the adult section cannot be as bad as they've heard. Something tells him still that even when the change will come, he won’t have to deal with it for long. There’s a certain calm about life as it is that he couldn’t have anticipated long ago and there’s only one person to thank for that. Changkyun brought many changes in Kihyun’s life, who suddenly started reaching out to old friends, inviting Hyungwon over to play games and laze around like the younger boy often liked to do, or he would write long and detailed messages to Hyunwoo whose replies came faster and more consistent each time.

 

He felt happier, lighter, and he started thinking for once about the future. When you hear almost every year that you’re going to die soon, when each birthday is not a celebration of life but a celebration of defeating death once again, it can get pretty grim and building up a life for yourself is no priority when you first have to survive life. There aren't many things to choose from when drawing the line to all the conditions and compromises he must make. During his naive childhood years, he would have liked to be an explorer, so caught up with the Indiana Jones movies and all the treasures a historian like that could find. He would steal a belt from his mother’s bathrobe and pretend it’s the hero’s wipe, lashing it around the house until naturally one of his grandma’s vases would break. Looking at it from a more realistic and approachable point of view, that sort of existence is far too stressful for his body and he'd be surrounded by dust constantly, a definite no go for any lung disease.

 

Then his true love showed itself in physics and the idea of becoming an engineer caught shape slowly. Yes, he couldn't go, for example, on a construction site or adventure himself in all sorts of climates to take measurements. However, it is such a broad field he can surely find something to enterprise for a couple of years, even if just study to later on hold lectures and courses at the polytechnic school. His mother agreed to the suggestion and they started looking together for anything they could afford or scholarships he could apply to, crafting a decent list of options which could perhaps expand if Kihyun managed to get high scores in his SATs. And just like that, a seven-year plan came to life.

 

Seven because Kihyun knows he's going to die at twenty-five. If you’d ask him why he stopped at twenty-five, the boy wouldn't be able to give a proper answer. Eighteen or twenty seems just as big of a milestone when he connects his oxygen tank at night to lessen his dispnee, when he looks at his fists after coughing up a clot of blood, when he needs to take many naps a day to keep up with reality. He thinks though that by twenty-five he would be fine to say goodbye to existence, maybe purchase that gun off the black market and do the dirty job himself. He'd have lived a pretty fulfilling youth, experienced great friendships, have incredible stories to tell about them, complete his studies, and hopefully fall in love. No, that one he can cut off the list right now because he doesn't want to simply fall in love, he wants to _be_ in love with somebody who returns his feelings.

 

The revelation comes in spring when Changkyun suddenly announces he has a girlfriend. “Her name is Yeojoo, we met at school,” he says over the phone and proceeds to send Kihyun a photo with the girl smiling rather coyly while Changkyun had the same wink and victory sign pose he resorts to for all his selfies. “She is pretty,” Kihyun comments for the sake of commenting and tries not to judge too harshly the Dior dress the girl sported for what he supposes to be a casual date, considering Changkyun has just his usual track jacket he grabs whenever they go bowling. “I know, that's why she's my girlfriend.” Biting back any spiteful comments like how dating shouldn't be about looks and rather about the chemistry between two people, whether they had a connection or not, whether one’s attracted to the other’s personality or not, Kihyun changes abruptly the subject and doesn't dwell on Yeojoo much more. He'd rather know if Changkyun is still up for pizza night on Friday.

 

“I promised Yeojoo to accompany her to her brother's piano recital, you know. My folks were invited beforehand anyway so… “ Right, so he allegedly forgot about that invitation before when he himself came up with the idea last week. Kihyun expected better from his friend, better than to drop everything for some girl he never mentioned before in his life. It's been one year since they started talking, Facebook so kindly reminded him this morning, with a loud notification and he hoped Changkyun would at least say something about it since he obviously received the same popup on his phone. He wasn’t expecting something grand, he wouldn’t even dare ask of Changkyun for some great gesture like saying that Kihyun changed his life for the better just like his presence turned everything around for the older. Just a tiny acknowledgment would have been enough and maybe that’s where the problem really lies.

 

The call gets cut short, Kihyun taking advantage of his mother's early return from work to hang up. Later on after dinner, he stares for a long time at the photo, trying to find some flaws for the dolled-up girl but even her pigtails seemed to be annoyingly symmetrical and perfect. Does she accept Changkyun the way he is, mucus clogging up his breathing ways and skin salty like the ocean? Does she care for his well-being and distinguish between a dry inoffensive cough and a full on fit looking more like some weird panic attack? Does she help him out when he feels like his knees are giving up and is patient when climbing up a hill together? The more he thought about this girl, the more he despised her because he knew that in the end, she'd never understand Changkyun as well as he does and yet still had the nerve to steal his closest friend from him. So he goes to his second closest friend.

 

Thankfully, Hyungwon is up for a sleepover anytime and his mom is already accustomed to the taller guy dropping by whenever. In truth, she was grateful her son got a best friend for once. The lanky teenager doesn’t live too far, only a few blocks down and his parents keep him on a large leash, even agreeing to such weird rendezvous with the sick kid. “Stop giving yourself so much credit, nobody calls you the sick kid,” Hyungwon rolls his eyes, already kicking dropping dead on the mattress Mrs. Yoo brought for him. The Yoos always had fresh, clean and soft blankets and he felt like burying himself under them forever and purring like a cat. “I feel like that’s what everyone does when I turn my back,” Kihyun mumbles, knees brought to his chest and feeling the vibrations of his ribcage. It’s been tight lately, maybe from all the pollen blooming flowers spread.

 

“Hoseok doesn’t,” Hyungwon reassures but his words aren’t quite credible at this point for Kihyun. Of course, _Hoseok_ doesn’t. Hoseok is Hyungwon’s ‘angel who opened his eyes about what life really is about’ or some romantic bullshit like that. “He doesn’t call you nor Kyun the sick kids. Nobody from us does.” _Us_ . If he didn’t feel so torn over Changkyun abandoning them, abandoning _him_ for some no name, he’d break out in a huge smile at the confirmation that heading now into eighteen, Kihyun has finally gathered a circle of friends. The boys' faces brighten his day from beyond the smoky aerosols and the antibiotics and endless treatments because as long as he was one of them, he too was just a normal boy. A normal teenager who shared funny posts found online, and made ridiculous jokes, and always made sure to meet up with the others at least once a week for the traditional night of junk food and games. For once, Kihyun feels like he’s not a freak, nor a weirdo, not a creep. He’s just a normal teenager with normal friends and a normal life.

 

Despite having more money than his family could even dream of saving up, Hoseok and Jooheon never treated Kihyun or Hyungwon any different than they treated Changkyun, except for offering to take the tab when picking a more expensive place to eat out. Kihyun forgot when Hyungwon began to hang out with them actually, probably after his birthday Changkyun couldn’t attend having all sorts of IVs hooked up to his thin veins and spamming the group chat with the silliest photos and comments. Sadly, Kihyun couldn’t attend Changkyun’s birthday either, feeling on the edge of something and not taking the risk of staying even at six feet apart from another cf-er. It’s admirable really, how they managed to keep their distance all this time, careful not to infect the other in any way and yet taking all the potential risks by simply sitting in the same room and breathing the same air. If their respiration could be called breathing.

 

Either way, missing out on that party meant Kihyun also missed out on the great stunt Hoseok pulled, coming out to all of them and confessing his feelings for the younger boy he’s barely met in a very dramatic, very not heterosexual manner. Except he didn’t quite miss it when Changkyun, so dependable and mindful, sent him the whole thing recorded. Hyungwon later almost begged to have a copy of that clip. With a gay couple around them, the dynamics of the group changed slightly but not enough to bother anyone, not enough for any of them to mention it. Naturally, the two would go on dates alone more often than meeting up with the rest but that is to be expected, especially given the number of times Hyungwon’s shown up to Kihyun’s front door with a bruised neck. However, the situation they are facing differs greatly. “Why? Because it’s a girl and not another guy?” Hyungwon inquires.

 

“No, because it’s Changkyun,” comes a sigh followed by a horrendous cough Hyungwon already saw coming. Kihyun accepts the tissues gratefully and lets out all the disgusting fluids he’s been holding in his chest, the tight feeling intensified and pressing against his heart. Without a word, Hyungwon paddles to the kitchen careful not to wake Mrs. Yoo dozing off on the couch and puts for another tea. Kihyun follows him after a moment when his vision can distinguish colors and the snowy stars go away. “What makes Changkyun different?” Hyungwon mumbles, his hands reaching for the top cupboard where the fennel tea and other herbs that ease up coughing were held. They’ve gotten closer only recently yet Hyungwon acts like he’s been here all his life, knowing exactly where to find exactly what he needs and Kihyun wonders why they haven’t cracked up this code before. “He’s Changkyun, you know how he is…” Kihyun mumbles and sits on the countertop. If his mother were awake, she’d pull at his ears until he got off but she’s not so he occupies his seat stubbornly.

 

“No, I don’t know. I know you because we’ve known each other for years but I barely know the kid. So tell me, what’s so wrong about Changkyun having a girlfriend.”  Everything, Kihyun feels like shouting but his throat is still sore from the earlier inhalations and the water seems to take a longer to boil. He could use some fluidification, optimal with some brandy poured in the cup, however, his mother has a strict no alcohol rule in the house she hasn’t broken since his father… no, he won’t think of that man. He hasn’t in so long and he won’t now yet even the image he usually repressed all bad thoughts with propagated further pain. “He’s like dynamite,” Kihyun says, voice quiet and clear and ringing through the small kitchenette he shares with Hyungwon. “Burning up all at once in a second and then leaving the rest empty in its wake. He’s impulsive, one moment he’ll want pistachio and when he returns from the kiosk he’s already eating amaretto ice cream. Then he’ll discard the cornet and just go and grab bubble tea instead, figuring that’s what he really ought to get. He’s a detonation with a big red button waiting to be pressed…”

 

The mug is burning his fingers, cheap ceramic radiating the aftermath of an explosive in his mind. Changkyun already pressed the red button before Kihyun got to slide it and hang up the call. Hyungwon says nothing, only sips on his own chamomile before sleep and paddles back to his friend’s bedroom, living Kihyun alone in the kitchen to figure it all out. It’s not that hard once he accepts all those reproaches were directed at himself. By the time Kihyun is done with his tea, his sleepover mate is already lightly snoring on his bedroom’s floor. The boy takes his probiotics, grabs his earphones, and turns off all the lights, a blanket covering his mom’s frame in the other room. A big red button waiting to be pressed. What a clown he has become.

 

_anchor - novo amor  
_

His cold easily shifted into pneumonia, as it is the course of these things. Looking back, almost a whole year with no exacerbation seemed unrealistic so the record has been evidently jinxed in the blink of an eye like it meant absolutely nothing, like his pathetic efforts to survive weren't valid in a word where his disease is only one of those rare anomalies pushed under the rug by a corrupt system. Three weeks of hospitalization and needles, three weeks of disgusting food and rude nurses, three weeks of isolation. His doctor believes his immune system has been weakened due to a stressful environment, bringing up the SAT exams Kihyun wasn't able to pass after not presenting himself to the actual sitting. Not that she blames him, with shivers so bad his teeth chatter and a fever so high they could fry eggs on his chest, Kihyun was in no shape to present himself to the occasion.

“What are you doing, boy, with these veins?” the nurse asks in a thick foreign accent, eyes narrowed at his frail purple arm. It's the fifth cannula they change this week and Kihyun would gladly offer his legs if they were any good but no nurse dared to put a cannula in such a weird position. They all preferred to sting him four times instead and use a rubber glove for tourniquet, a solid measure to stop all circulation or feeling to the point Kihyun’s arm changes color and gets so numb it brings tears of pain in his eyes. But he swallows them back, his pride preventing him from letting this hell crawler witness one of his breakdowns. The nurse shakes her head as though her tedious work is solely Kihyun’s fault, as though he asked to have a chronic illness which required periodic treatments to the point his veins went on a strike and starved themselves leaving only a skeleton of the blood portal under his thin skin.

“I cut them all off to make your job harder.” Not the smartest idea to bite back with so much disrespect at an elder, he admits, but that incompetent woman made him want to grab the needle and stick it in his throat to be over with the calvary. Even when she threatens to send him to psych for suicidal tendencies, Kihyun would rather deal with that incredible sadness than with her shift replacement, a guy who insisted on bragging about how he worked out his body to be more of a man and how Kihyun should do it too, going as far as to recommend exercises to pump his veins so it would be easier to get IVs done. “If you don't take care of this machine, it's going to rust and destroy itself, buddy.” Apparently, nobody gave this guy the memo that explains how cystic fibrosis is a degenerative congenital condition. Or simply put so even this donkey can comprehend, he was born with it and the disease only gets worse with time.

There's no cure and no solid treatment, with each infection they wing something new to appease the plebeian multiresistant bacteria and then pray it works. His granny lighting a candle each Sunday morning for him has probably been more effective so far than any of the prescribed medicine or procedures. His lung capacity has been drastically tanked this time, dropping to somewhere below 35% even after an intense cure of Meropenem and too many bronchoscopies to count. His throat is still crying in waves of pain after the session this morning, a quick one that required only a bit of local anesthesia according to the doctor, only enough for his trachea to stay open up and not squeeze the tube shoved down in his lungs to vacuum some of the mucus preventing him from breathing. Kihyun hasn’t made up his mind yet which was worse: the feeling of being choked to death, the panic attack that took over him or the sound of the procedure.

His mother visits as soon as she was done at the office, a small company she’s been working at for more than a decade. Quickly checking in with the doctor, the only decent person on the whole floor according to Kihyun’s thorough judgment in handling a damn syringe, she offers him a true feast, taking out off a bag a big bucket of crispy wings and large fries to go with them. “What’s the occasion?” the boy asks eying the food suspiciously. For the past hours he’s only been able to swallow little slurps of mint tea which somewhat soothed the soreness, he doubts he’d be able to digest even his favorite dish. The woman smiles sympathetically and holds his hand in hers, thumb running over battered knuckles and inspecting the clubbing and new scars. Whenever his lungs functioned less even for his low standards, Kihyun’s fingertips would get rounder, shorter. Once he dared to compare his palm with Changkyun’s whose respiratory system isn’t as deteriorated. It might have been an excuse to hold hands yet he got the confirmation he searched for, his hand indeed being tinier than the younger’s and his fingers rounder.

Thinking of Changkyun makes his throat close up tighter so he twists around to push his oxygen level to 3.5, the air bubbles behind him getting noticeably louder. “We’re going home tomorrow,” his mother announces with no preparation. Kihyun frowns. There has been absolutely no difference in his state now from when he’s been hospitalized except the return to a normal temperature. The antibiotics aren’t working, he _can’t_ breathe and he feels sick and disgusted with himself. He sent earlier a selfie on the group chat but thankfully managed to delete it before any of them have seen it, it’s no wonder the nurses look repulsed when they come to bring him his meds. “You’ll get some more IVs done for a few weeks, but you don’t have to stay here anymore.” What she actually meant to say is that it’s too dangerous for him to spend more time in the hospital where he’s prone to catch an even more dangerous virus than the _Klebsiella_ he’s currently fighting.

He doesn’t bring it up though and tries instead to munch the delicious chicken, an extraordinary jump from the supposedly nutritive squash he’s been served. There’s definitely nothing nutritive about food being so terrible it makes you want to puke though and Kihyun finds solace in the thought of sleeping in his own bed tomorrow and eating some pie made by granny Yoo. He shares the good news with his friends after the night nurse brings his last inhalations for the day and lets him go to sleep, turning off all lights and closing the door. In moments like this where he can hear the wheelchairs screeching on the hallways and the k-dramas playing in the guard room, he feels more isolated from the world than ever. When it first hit him that things are never going to get better, that it’s all going downhill from now on, he was in a similar room on the same floor, all alone and unsupervised and so fixated on the idea to jump from a window that they tied him to the bed and shot him with some tranquilizer. It took a week of observation and therapy to convince them he’s not actually going to end his own life despite falling into a pretty dark abyss with no silver lining. Faking being alright is no big deal when you feed the doctors exactly what they’d like to hear.

‘ _I have lost my temper for a moment but now I know there are plenty of reasons to go on’_

_‘I don’t know what got in me, I feel much better now’_

_‘No, I don’t think I’ll need more therapy or medication. I am back on tracks now’_

The silence of the last hospitalization night always keeps him up and makes him restless with anticipation of finally breaking free of this white germful prison. After his mother wishes him goodnight in a voice note, Kihyun reaches out to Changkyun for the first time in a long while, missing his friend and needing to feel like somebody understands what he’s going through. Not empathy, no ‘i can imagine how that must be’, he wanted the real deal. However, after Yeojoo became a pretty constant part of the boy’s life, exactly like Kihyun expected her to, the youngest turned to a more solitary life much like the one Kihyun used to have before befriending the other. Except, Changkyun shares it with a girlfriend that makes their relationship loud and clear everywhere she can. Adding the girl on his social media platforms has surely been a mistake since he gets reminded every day about why Changkyun never writes to him anymore, getting bombarded instead with statuses, check-ins, and over the top photos.

‘ _can I call?’_

The question mark detaches off the screen and starts floating around Kihyun’s head as he hadn’t seen that answer coming to a simple ‘hi’. Unless he has an attack in the middle of the night, the medical stuff will leave him alone until dawn when the inhalations and IVs start again before the un-yummy breakfast. The door is closed and despite the walls being so thin he can hear the kid from the other room coughing out his whole lung, Kihyun thinks he’s safe for a private call with no interruptions. Besides, he’s always eighteen now, there’s no way the nurses would come take away his phone like they’d do a few years ago. So with a slight tremor in his hand, he presses the phone button and in a few seconds, Changkyun badly lit face appears on the screen. “You look terrible, did somebody punch you in the face?” Kihyun teases but in truth the dark eye bags and clear signs of fatigue displayed worried him. Not that he’s in a much better condition, in fact, it’s a miracle he’s still awake right now and able to hold his phone upright, but _still_.

“Haha, I forgot how funny you are,” Changkyun says in the driest tone Kihyun has ever heard. “Are you hanging alright in there? I saw you’re going home tomorrow…” the younger speaks in hushes but it’s not much of a difference from how he usually talks on the phone. There’s something bothering him, that much is obvious if he asked to hear Kihyun’s voice at midnight on a weekday. “I don’t know. I mean, they doped me up with meronem and some other amoxicillin like last time and I had those two day bronchos they do when it gets bad,” Changkyun visibly shivers, knowing the torture well from last winter. “But you know…” Kihyun drifts off, eyes trying to find the anomaly in the pattern. Fatigue, drowsy voice, apparent sadness but no sudden fits of coughing, no oxygen tube or inhalators nearby. What could have affected Changkyun so bad that he turned once more vulnerable towards Kihyun?

“I know,” Changkyun confirms and there’s a long silence on the line, the two boys just looking at each other. Kihyun wonders if he should sum up the past three weeks, what nurses came around to check on him, which resident is hooking up with the attending physician for TBC, how he managed to sneak out and then climb back up a flight of stairs with no oxygen after him because he so wanted to get gummy teddy bears from the vending machine. He almost fainted after reaching his ward but at least he was chewing some sour goodness. “Yeojoo broke up with me.” Unexpected, calm, like he’s presenting some casual gossip. That’s how Changkyun liked to drop this sort of bombs on him and then move on with no explanation. “Me and the guys are gonna hang out next Friday at the usual Dominos’. Do you think you’ll feel well enough to come too?”

Kihyun just shakes his head and takes a minute to process what’s just been said. Yeojoo is no longer Changkyun’s girlfriend and he can finally hit that unfriend button. She is no longer dating Changkyun which most likely got the boy in turn sad and more depressed than he’s ever seen him in the past year. Is his heart aching? Is Changkyun suffering? Can he pick up the pieces or undo the damage? “Victoria will come every day to give me IVs at home,” he says dismissively, Victoria being their favorite nurse from ICU. “When did you two break up? What happened?” he presses instead, burning to know all about it. It’s a vile feeling, this schadenfreude growing in his chest, a sort of happiness based on someone else’s loss but that confuses him more since he obviously doesn’t want his friend to suffer. So then why does he suddenly feel exhilarated? At first, Changkyun looks like he’s either going to ignore him or shut him down for good about how this shouldn’t concern Kihyun at all, but then he speaks, stiff pauses between each word.

“We…” the crack in his voice betrays the hurt behind it and Kihyun feels something inside him crack too, “She wanted to do normal stuff, you know. Go to the mountains and ski, go to some beach resort in the summer, smoke behind the school with all the cool kids.” Kihyun’s heart starts beating, remembering eavesdropping on one of his mother’s conversations with Mrs. Lim about how Changkyun’s cough has gotten so much worse with no reason and his blood sugar values increased. The younger wouldn’t be that dumb to pick up such a murderous habit, would he? Smoking would ruin all that’s left to ruin in that vibrating cage held in place by ribs. “All I could offer were dinners and slow walks and sex a few times.” If Kihyun’s eyes weren’t bulging out of his skull before, they certainly are now but he stays dum. No word. “So she moved on to the next best thing.” And the silence is back.

After such a rollercoaster, Kihyun thinks it’s appropriate to heave a long sigh in his eerie room. The red light from the cross hanging onto the building illuminates his window view, teleporting him in a whole other world where things are not the same anymore. And then out of the blue, a playful smirk appears on his lips, pushing the oxygen more into his sharp nose. “Good luck then ‘cause there’s no best thing after my friend. Nobody can kick life in the balls like him.” Changkyun is definitely taken aback by that, staring at Kihyun on his hospital bed, at all the IV bags hanging around empty and the bubbles popping in the water meant to keep the oxygen humid. Then he smiles, lips stretching so far his dimples reveal themselves from their hiding place and no red light can distract Kihyun from the one and only person who can make his chest feel tight in a different way, like flowers are blooming and giving him the air he needs yet smothering all at once. “I love you, Ki,” Changkyun says, the confession a pitch higher as it gets filtered out through that large grin.

“I love you too, Kyun,” the other admits with a much heavier heart, his lips trembling under the pressure of a full garden growing and hugging all the hurt places, ripping his breath from his open mouth. A hug sounds like everything he needs at the moment, just feeling Changkyun wrapping his arms around him and getting lost in the salty fragrance of the ocean his soul has become. The one Changkyun’s boat chose to anchor in. For one second, he imagines being able to do just that, to touch the boy and hold his warm hand and listen to his colibri heart up close. That second shatters him completely, quickly swept away by six feet of dirt thrown on top his empty body. Six feet he must keep apart from Changkyun, forever.

🌹🌹🌹

 


	2. the last breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Changkyun’s arms wrapped around him, he did not fear his boat rocking and toppling over, he did not mind choking on no air. For he only breathes when Changkyun shares his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i really managed to write this whole update in a week. thank you so much to everyone who has shared their thoughts on the stories, left kudos and such nice encouraging words. again, this is not light. last chapter will be posted on 26th april. _just breathe_

_🌹🌹🌹_

  __

_🌹🌹🌹_

 

_i found - amber run_

 

May is Kihyun’s favorite month, despite it being six months to his birthday and a busy time overall for everyone he knows. Drowning in tall green grass and sweating under a summery sun, nothing could make May anything less than perfect when it becomes the month Kihyun tastes love and gets a glimpse of what heaven looks like. Right here and right now in this bright meadow, Kihyun thinks he could die in peace as long as he has Changkyun’s hand to hold and looks at his smile. Before all this though, there have been quite a few changes around his life, things looking brilliant the more time he spent reaching for what he truly wants. “It’s a conspiracy,” Changkyun explained to him once when they were once again spending the day just skyping, a frequent activity ever since Changkyun’s schedule turned vacant. “A conspiracy made by the universe to make you happy,” and Kihyun started to believe that.

 

First of all, his infection diminished at last after a good ol’ cure of aunty Victoria’s morning visits at 5 o’clock on the dot before her morning shifts at ICU and at 7 p.m in the evening before the graveyard shift. He has known Victoria for over fifteen years at this point, the woman being one of the first hospitable people who actually helped his family throughout the hardships cystic fibrosis brought not only upon himself, but upon all whose close by blood of otherwise. She took care of him from when he was just a tiny toddler, coughing and wailing as loud as his little lungs allowed him, offering his mother advice on which medication would be more effective, coming to their home to administer intravenous treatments pro bono, always bringing a huge expensive gift for his birthday. As a child unaware of his limits and why and how he was different from other kids, Kihyun acted like a spoiled brat around the kind woman, often sending her off back to China or blaming her for feeling sick.

 

Now he’s aware of how ridiculous that sounds, but when he was younger he simply couldn’t understand why this was happening to him, why it’s him that is suffering and being ill instead of anyone else. Truthfully, he still doesn’t. Especially on the fiftieth day of treatment when even Victoria who never missed a vein had trouble finding a spot that wasn’t bruised or swollen or the color of plums. “I am so tired of this bullshit, it’s never going to be better. I’m just going to die soon anyway so just stop trying, I’m tired,” he cried out in frustration, pushing the woman away under his mother’s shocked eyes. It’s not the first time he cracks and she has seen him have even worse breakdowns in the past, she has seen the marks he left on his body when nothing could calm him down but the sight of blood and punishing himself for bringing so much sorrow in his loved ones’ lives just by existing.

 

It would have been better for everyone if he hadn’t been born and to this day, his view hasn’t changed at all, the thought at most only ignored. His friends manage to make him feel cared for most of the time, appreciated even when they display obvious, genuine concern for his health or general state. Sometimes when they’re all laughing at a joke he made, he feels special and like he matters, like he could spend another decade just talking with these people and being in their presence. Life appeared a little less gloomy when drinking beer with his pals, staying up until late without much of a purpose but enjoying the conversation and their honest smiles. But now, now he is so terribly tired of shots, and antibiotics, and pills, and cold sweats in the middle of the night, and his arms being so numb he expects them to detach and fall off on the ground. He is so tired of coughing up blood and not being able to even go to the bathroom without an oxygen tank on his back. He is tired.

 

“Now you listen to me, Kihyun,” Victoria says in a stern voice he hasn’t heard a lot from the cheery auntie, not when directly addressing him, “You are so beyond blessed, boy. You have a mother who would give her life for you to be better, and such a long life ahead of you. Look at her!” Victoria points at a crying Mrs. Yoo standing idle in the doorway and Kihyun’s heart cracks a bit more, the itch to mark a new guilt stamp on his skin burning.  “You don’t get to be tired, Kihyun. There are children at ICU right now that would exchange anything to be in your place. Kids with malformations, kids abandoned by their mothers for being born ill, kids with cancer. You think they aren’t tired? They only have months, maybe a few years left, and none of them even grit their teeth when I bring them cytostatics. You don’t get to be tired, _you_ ,” Kihyun feels his arm being squeezed, the grip painful and harsh, “you still have a long fight.”

 

A long fight.

 

For the rest of the following weeks, Kihyun’s kept quiet and never complained again when the needle stuck him and slid under the skin, when the perfusions would erode his veins or simply stop dropping without changing the angle, when the solution stung so bad he couldn’t hold back the tears. By the end of the sixtieth dose, he had no more usable veins in his arms, full of more battle scars gathered from his _long fight_. “We’re fighters, you know,” Changkyun said simply over the phone one of those days. “That’s all that people see in us. We’re fighting this disease every time we inhale and exhale without being choked up, I suppose it is inspiring to them.” Kihyun kept quiet. He didn’t like being called a fighter, he didn’t like it when people saw him as some kind of victim worth pitying. Whenever somebody gave him that sympathetic look, it made him want to throw up and then counter by punching them in the face for daring to look down on him. Being sick without a fault didn’t make him a victim, being sick didn’t make him any less human than any other. “Guess we’re just some cheap dupes of cancer kids to them...”

 

“Cheap dupe,” Changkyun chuckled but agreed nonetheless, “Actually it’s even worse. You know everyone pities people once they get cancer and nobody dares to say anything bad about them. God forbid, you know, the poor guy has a tumor and he’s going to die so let’s be nice to him.” Kihyun scoffed and nodded, despite Changkyun not being able to see him this time. “At least the fucker knows for sure he’s going to die real soon. But us? We’re supposed to struggle until our lungs fail for good. We struggle all our lives and nobody gives a fuck, you see, because we’re born like this so this is what we’re _supposed_ to do. We don’t know how much we got, only look at your lungs. One cold was all it took to make you dependent on oxygen.” Perhaps Changkyun hit too strong, Kihyun admits. In the end, death is simply that. Death. It doesn’t matter whether it comes through an illness like cystic fibrosis, cancer, an accident or old age. However, his friend has a solid point he can’t argue against. People spend half their lives smoking two packs a day and then everybody cries when the tumor gets detected. He and Changkyun spend their whole lives in hospitals, and who cries for them?

 

“If you think about it, we’re basically the real X-men,” the boy observes later on, a big pizza with chicken and corn half consumed on the table between them. Kihyun chews on his slice, lips stretching wide with joy as he relishes in the deliciousness Changkyun is treating him with. Initially, this was supposed to be yet another casual hangout with the whole gang but Hoseok had taken Hyungwon on some trip to celebrate his forthcoming high school celebration and Jooheon had a cold, which meant he must stay away from both. “Why? Has that tail you think you have finally physically shown itself?” the older teases, sure that the red poking at the blond’s cheeks is his own doing. He’s not sure why it gives him such a kick, teasing Changkyun that is, yet he could do it for hours and be amused for months about it.

 

Changkyun picks a mushroom off his plate and throws it at Kihyun’s face, missing by a few centimeters and landing in a lady’s hairdo, the ketchup blending in quite artsily with her red hair. Kihyun has to bring a palm to cover his loud snickering when color drains completely from his friend’s face, but it’s so amusing he can’t contain himself and starts choking on nothing, air missing its rightful path down to his lungs like always again. Changkyun gives him a worried look until Kihyun shakes his head and temporarily raises the volume of released oxygen through his tube. One, two, three. _Just breathe_ . “So elaborate on your mutant debut,” he says once he can calm down his breathing and then he can’t help but tease some more, “ _Wolverine_.”

 

“ _Hey!_ ” the boy shouts in English, embarrassed for being reminded of the time Hyungwon gave him that nickname as a joke for attempting to shave the little bit of peach fuzz growing on his chin and ending up with an ugly scratch from the blade instead. “Okay, so the point is that cf is given by this mutation, you know-” “You mean multiple mutations that differ from patient to patient and that all affect the same gene,” Kihyun correct with a raised eyebrow. He has studied well for his anatomy exam in the SATs and he’s not gonna waste the chance to show it off. Changkyun rolls his eyes at his smartassery and dismisses the interruption, “Yeah, well. _Well_ , we’re talking about mutations, Ki. Our DNA is objectively different, we _are_ mutants. But instead of being able to fly, or read minds, or set things on fire, we got shitty mucus clogging up our lungs and shrinking pancreases.”

 

Kihyun contemplates for a bit, searching for flaws in that obscure logic he’s come to love about Changkyun. “Damn. We could have been able to breathe underwater but we can’t even breathe in our normal atmosphere,” he shakes his head sarcastically and holds back from calling Changkyun out for the many, many times he accused Kihyun of being a geek. Yet here he was, a full-on Marvel stan. Not that he’s judging, but everyone knows Iron Man is better and could melt even Wolverine’s claws. “Maybe we aren’t supposed to breathe in this atmosphere,” Changkyun mumbles as though an epiphany just hit him in the head. “Maybe we come from a different planet or dimension and our bodies aren’t made to uphold this terrestrial bullshit.” Kihyun bursts out laughing at how Changkyun’s eyes sparkle so sincerely like he truly believes this totally crack absurdity. What an Aquarius.  

 

“I think I read that book, actually, it had some flower in its title. Ten out of ten not gonna recommend.” There’s a little girl pointing at them and poking the tip of her nose, trying to get some explanations from her parents about the strange boy wearing a tube and coughing rowdily. It makes both of them uncomfortable yet Changkyun tries to ignore it or at least shift the mood and lighten it up. “See?” he scoffs but not in a mean way, the slight lift of his mouth gives him away too easily for Kihyun, fluent in Changklish, a strangely spoken and body language many feel intimidated by. Not him though. “People look at us like we’re mutants already. There must be something doctor Nam is hiding from us!” That would definitely make things much easier, Kihyun thinks with a bitter smile, grabbing his last slice and savoring it despite the now cold texture. Maybe they can’t live and function like that little girl is and will be able when she grows up some more, but at least all three of them can enjoy this pizza right now and when all you have is the present, right now is all that matters.

 

When they leave the restaurant, Changkyun not so discreetly takes his hyung’s hand in his own as they make their way together to the subway station. It’s not the first time it happens, definitely not the first time recently, and Kihyun’s stomach feels woozy from all the butterflies bursting out of their cocoons and flying to the garden nestled in his ribcage. Changkyun smiles and another flower blooms, Kihyun’s fingers interlock with the boy’s thinner, longer ones and a whole field flourishes enlightened by this smoking fire sparkling between them. He wishes Changkyun would never have to let go of his hand, he wishes he wouldn’t have to apply disinfectant as soon as he hops on the train, he wishes he could hold on forever to this beautiful feeling. One foot apart, that’s beyond idiotic for two patients with cf but neither is willing to put back the proper distance between them. Kihyun wants to get rid of the rest, however, he greatly lacks the guts to do so.

 

 _A conspiracy made by the universe to make you happy._ Or maybe a curse for allowing the only man he is not allowed to love to enter his life so easily and turned it upside down. He’s already seen a fragment of what his life would look like without Changkyun and Kihyun is certain he does not wish to ever go through that. They’re on such thin ice and Changkyun is his warning sun, slowly melting the cap and propelling both right into drowning a painful, frozen death. Kihyun is in love and maybe that is his biggest flaw, how he is unable to resist anything Changkyun does, how his heart skips a beat whenever the other inches closer, how he wants to hide himself in the younger’s arms for an eternity and more. His feelings are plainly obvious and the blond is a smart guy, after weeks of awkward shuffling between them Kihyun knows for sure Changkyun is aware of his bigger than the sky crush on him. Yet, no matter how many times the rational, sensible side of Kihyun waits for Changkyun to talk some sense to him, no words come.

 

“Text me when you get home,” the younger mumbles once Kihyun’s train gets announced and, unexpectedly, gently presses his lips on the brown haired’s cheek before turning around and sprinting off, disappearing right before Kihyun’s eyes. Letting him wonder why after all of this, he’s found love where it wasn’t supposed to be.

 

_white blood - oh wonder_

 

As the weather gets warmer and the nights get longer, Kihyun’s blood starts boiling more and more when each sunrise brings a brighter day than before. Since his health has somewhat improved in comparison to the previous half year and his mother agreed to let him get a subscription to the local natatorium, the boy spent most of his mornings by the pool working on building up his torso and muscular frame, and most of his evenings out and about with Changkyun. For once, the planets seemed to be aligned and everything has been running smoothly like he couldn’t have imagined, a dazzling summer glow gracing his skin and making him radiant (or at least in Changkyun’s eyes). Their relationship took a drastic turn to the right with one simple kiss on the cheek that Kihyun swears he can still feel lingering and Changkyun pretends not to have existed. That’s not really a problem when he makes sure to replace its memory every day.

 

One night nearing fall, they all agree to meet at Hoseok’s place, the older boy home alone for the weekend since his parents set off on a business trip across the country. It’s some sort of goodbye party for both him and his boyfriend, the two getting accepted to university in Seoul and leaving the parental nest real soon for a much freer college experience. Kihyun can’t say he doesn’t envy them, he’d very much like to get his own mother off his back, what with all her interrogations and inquiries lately in regards with being away from home too much. It’s not like he’s negligent with his treatments, rather he’s even more meticulous with them now that he and Changkyun − well, he can’t define what he and Changkyun have or are or do, but ever since this total change, Kihyun’s been even more careful about his health. Not as much for himself than for Changkyun, scared of passing on some crossed infection to his friend.

 

He’s never really gotten it, how this thing exactly works, but he’s read enough abstracts to get the gist of it. Once assimilated by cystic fibrosis, an infection alters itself and becomes resistant to the antibodies fighting against it, something he’s used to and witnessed himself even recently. Building up resistance, the virus becomes much more dangerous than before and thus, if transmitted to another person who suffers from cf, it could become fatal. Trivial colds that people get over in the span of seven days represent a serious danger already, modified infections that know exactly where to hit are the ripper they all fear. Neither he nor Changkyun has _B. cepacia_ thankfully, known to be the worst of all, the virus that would ban a patient from even getting on the transplant waiting list. Yet again, Kihyun’s never wanted a transplant. He’d much rather enjoy his cut of existence and however many years he’s got left in his palm, his sweaty palm that holds Changkyun’s not so secretly during the movie Jooheon picked.

 

Their friends are aware of the risks as well, not quite comprehending the situation but realizing that Changkyun and Kihyun should keep their distance in order to protect their tender health. For a while now, the distance has become nonexistent though, replaced by coy glances and flirtatious looks, unrequested displays of affection and inside jokes that got the others feel like a third wheel. Hyungwon pulled him aside for a one on one talk after he’d seen the way Changkyun casually drops his arm around Kihyun’s shoulders when they go to the movies, worried − and for good reason − that Kihyun’s not fully self-conscious of what he’s getting himself into, what really is at stake, and how poking a wildfire like that will only backlash dramatically. Overwhelmed by the intervention, Kihyun tried to deny everything, find excuses for the new intimacy settled between him and the younger boy and vehemently say ‘ _it’s not what it looks like_ ’. However, the more he attempted to form a coherent argument against the accusation Hyungwon so stubbornly presented, the harder it got to ignore the painfully obvious truth. “I can’t believe you two are leaving me alone with them,” Jooheon pouts from his cozy spot on the couch opposite Hoseok while hugging a fluffy pillow.

 

The oldest looks confused and momentarily stops rubbing Hyungwon’s shoulders, the taller one sitting on the rug between his boyfriend’s knees. Hyungwon sighs disappointed at the lack of pressure against his nape and gives Hoseok a pleading kitten look to pick up what he was doing before. Jooheon rolls his eyes but he’s had enough time to get used to _that_ . What he’s not used to is _this_ , the second couple sitting all snuggled up on a love chair, Kihyun occupying Changkyun’s lap while the blond keeps him close, arms wrapped tight around his hyung’s waist. “Well, Dior is still in your class so maybe you can win her over and then it’d be easier to ignore those hormonal dogs.” Hoseok’s mouth gets promptly shut by a pillow thrown in his face aimed from the direction of the loveseat with way more force than he’d have expected from any of his friends. Apparently, all those laps at the swimming pool really improved Kihyun’s physical condition. Given his designated seat though, it’s safe to say that he enjoys all sorts of laps.

 

“Hey, be respectful,” Kihyun scolds, a smirk tugging at his lips as he delivers his next line. “We’re not dogs, you idiot. Clearly, Changkyun’s a wolf and I am a fox.” The room quiets down for a moment, the sound of swords clashing and dragons roaring played on tv shifting in white noise while everyone seemingly forgets to pay attention to the rerun marathon of the epic show, openly staring at Kihyun instead. “I can’t believe this. Changkyun converted him to furrism,” Jooheon mumbles, mouth covered by his hand and face comically twisted as though the realization literally hurt him. His best friend chooses to flip him off before rearranging his position, getting more comfortable in the leather chair and pulling Kihyun closer to himself, while pressing a subtle kiss on the other’s jaw which immediately brings a blush to his cheeks. It’s a sight Changkyun loves to witness, almost as much as how cute Kihyun looks wearing one of his hoodies.

 

The blond got into the habit of always carrying an extra in his backpack, just in case something happened to the one he’s undoubtedly already wearing. It saved him a few times from embarrassment or colds so he’s found the practice useful over the years and moreso today. They first met to grab some burgers together at the fast food place near the gym Kihyun spends his mornings pretending to be a merman − its location absolutely impeccable marketing targeted towards people who are trying to lose those extra pounds. By the time they packed up their things to head for Hoseok’s though, it started to rain and the wind was too harsh for Kihyun’s simple white tee. Even if they got into a cab real quick, the bad weather was enough to make either of them sick(er) and, mind you, Changkyun won’t allow that to happen on his watch. “Green looks good on you,” he whispers in his hyung’s ear, the warm breath raising goosebumps on pale skin. Kihyun glances back at him, a timid smile adorning his lips after such a compliment has been delivered his way. “I like orange more,” he says, an obvious reference to the orange hoodie Changkyun’s himself’s wearing.

 

“Do you wanna switch?” the younger asks quite seriously and frankly quite innocent, ready to take off his clothes if Kihyun so much as asked him to. Jooheon groans again before Kihyun gets the chance to answer at all, “For the love of god, don’t discuss your sexual preferences in front of your single friends.” The older couple watches amused how Changkyun flips him off again, a smug smirk on his face while Kihyun chooses to bury his face in the younger’s neck, finding the warm refuge perfect to hide away for eternity. If only he could. Sadly, his chest vibrates too violently with a cough he’s been trying to hold back for too long, and so he dismounts himself from his crush and makes a run to the bathroom where he can discharge the green, thick mucus in peace. Looking at the disgusting color, an intense wave of rage overtakes him and he dumbly punches the sink repeatedly until his fist hurts, the hits in synchronization with the tempo of his shaking chest. Tears start sliding down his cheeks, the effort of his lungs taking its toll quickly and the exorcism making his knees buckle forward.

 

He turns on the faucet to cover the sound of his brutish coughs with the pouring water and forces himself to look at how the bacteria get drowned by the stream like his disease took away so many opportunities from him along the years. He’ll never get to go to college like a normal kid his age, he’ll always be a burden for whoever picks him as a friend and worse of all, he’ll never get to date in peace without worries for his heart has already picked Changkyun and what sort of twisted star-crossed lovers’ story that was. They could end up killing each other by simply breathing, no matter how impaired the action actually was. Dumb lungs, dumb genes, dumb life, stealing every chance of happiness he’s ever gotten, pushing him into a prison-like bubble where everything he enjoys is prohibited because it could compromise his concrete existence. Life is shit, that much has been clear to the sick boy from a very young age, yet time and time again he’s being proven just how awful it can become. One hand offers him unlimited joy and an incomparable euphoria, the other threatens to snatch away everything. This is a terrible gamble, a Russian roulette ready to strike either him or the one he loves and he’s not sure which he fears more.

 

The aggravating thoughts cut up savage out of him, his coughs louder, raw and interrupted only by whimpering sobs from a broken boy whose pain could not be numbed with medicine anymore. As though a rib punctured his lungs, the coughing intensifies until his throat goes completely sore, ripped and red, and blood follows quickly first as little strings in the already nauseous mucus and then as tiny clots scrapped directly out from his bronchi. Soon enough, Kihyun collapses onto the cold floor, an uncontrollable convulsing mess unable to raise up again, too repulsed by the taste of iron in his mouth and by his self-destructing body. He’s tired of constantly fighting, constantly enduring all this hell for nothing when only more hell awaits him further on, when he’s all alone in this dark hole and his soul feels crushed by hopelessness. He’s a bomb ticking ready to explode at any minute. How many articles are there on children with cystic fibrosis who died on their feet, one day hiking with their friends and the next hospitalized and in their terminal stage. How many articles are there on death in general, people being killed in the middle of the night, robbed on the streets, run over by cars and what other sorts of terrible things. We’re doomed to die the day we are born, only that Kihyun’s sandglass has twice the speed.

 

A knock snaps him out of this nihilistic pity party and he manages to pull himself together just enough to shout an, “I’m fine!” for whoever is waiting outside the door. Probably Hoseok making sure his friend doesn’t bite the dust in his own house. Kihyun checks to make sure but as far as he can tell he’s still, unfortunately, breathing. Without any warning, the door opens and Changkyun steps inside, skinny arm exposed out of the dangling orange sleeve of his hoodie. Kihyun looks away, embarrassed for looking like trash when Changkyun still succeeded to be so fine despite sharing the same diagnosis. “Do you need your oxygen tank? Or Ventolin? I got a fresh, sealed one in my backpack,” the younger offers, stepping closer to his friend. Kihyun shakes his head, the motion making him dizzy and he wonders how many hours it’s been since his last meal and just how low his blood sugar dropped. Having diabetes and a disease that keeps you hungry all the time since nutrients are never absorbed right by the body is quite a struggle. “I said I’m fine,” he mutters when clearly he is not and they both know it. He’s been using his oxygen only at nights to avoid nocturnal dyspnea and there’s only so much Salbutamol he can inhale in a day without sending his heart into arrest.

 

Changkyun rips a piece of toilet paper and then kneels down right in front of Kihyun, dangerously close for the older to just risk it all and kiss the blond senseless but he stays put as the other gently wipes away the blood from the corner of his mouth. Changkyun’s thumb rests on his lip and so do his eyes yet Kihyun can’t muster the might to push away nor pull closer. Standing on the sharp edge of purgatory, they can’t seem to decide which path to follow and given as he’s already in an existential inferno, Kihyun’s so very tempted to take the leap. “What are we doing?” he whispers afraid but unsure of what exactly − the cysts in his lungs, the holes in Changkyun’s own, their demise or, on the contrary, giving it all up too easily without a fight. He’s been a fighter his whole life and yet this might be his most difficult one to carry out. “I like you,” Changkyun says determined, eyes set on making things right. It warms up Kihyun’s heart and he basks in the shared feeling, this shared fondness that grew beyond its restricted borders, this unique attachment he can’t get rid off even if he tried. Still, he doesn’t want to get rid of it, he wants to embrace it with open arms and lose himself in it.

 

“I know. I like you too, Kyun. But you know that this is risky,” Kihyun confesses in a small voice, fingers shyly wrapping around the younger’s wrist just beneath his expensive watch. Changkyun’s thumb is still resting on his lower lip until it is not, sliding down to his chin to cup it and formally replacing the heat source that previously burned Kihyun’s mouth with his own lips. Their eyes slide shut in unison, the feel of their lips locking enough to create a whole cosmos around them, surrounding them with sparks of energy and colors bustling. And for the first time in his life, Kihyun feels like he can breathe. Changkyun chases the sensation, resting his palm on the older’s nape and bringing him closer, lightly biting his lip before pulling away and grazing it with his own. It drives Kihyun mad and he can barely hold back from climbing over Changkyun to get more. Their eyes meet again, clouded and dazed, full of an unsated hunger for the air breathed by the other. “What is life without a little risk?” the blond quotes his favorite fictional character, his crush scoffing amused before he finds himself with an armful of Kihyun towering over him and kissing him like he’s after his soul. Perhaps he actually is.

 

When he woke up this morning, Kihyun didn’t imagine himself making out with Changkyun on Hoseok’s guest bathroom floor, not quite a normal definition for a Friday night either, but life has been a series of unexpected events with Changkyun by his side. Looking in those dark obsidian orbs and at the smile that follows, Kihyun finds he doesn’t mind one bit as long as he can keep tasting love on his lips and feel the emptiness in his chest slowly fill up with hope for tomorrow. The others don’t bother to search for them, and maybe it’s selfish considering this was supposed to be about Hoseok and Hyungwon leaving on Monday, but Kihyun wants to spend all of his remaining seconds next to Changkyun, hearing his voice, smelling his perfume, holding him in his arms close. What is life without a little risk. Now that the cross has been made, he can’t imagine going back to not knowing how Changkyun kisses, not knowing how happy one nod can make him. “We’re boyfriends now.” For somebody who likes flipping off people as much as Changkyun does, this is yet the biggest _fuck you_ he’s shouted at the top of his lungs to life itself. Cf will be their death anyway so why not make most of what they have right here. With a big smile on his face, Kihyun seals his death sentence with a kiss.

 

_til death - japanese breakfast_

 

Unlike his boyfriend, Changkyun ends up home alone quite often as long as his health isn’t rocking back and forth, his parents focused on their own thing and his brother on his own in the States, working on his degree. “We don't talk much,” Changkyun admits when Kihyun inquires more about his family one night. “I don't think he really likes me. When we were little everyone used to fuss over me, you know. Checkups and treatments. God, mom is still obsessed with gene therapy and Orkambi, she's so desperate to find a cure. Anyway, they sorta ended up neglecting him.” Kihyun keeps quiet and continues running his fingers through black locks, Changkyun quickly overgrowing his dyed look and going back to his origins. It looked just as beautiful to the older though, who’s just glad to be able to touch his boyfriend like this. Still, Changkyun’s story got him thinking.

 

As an only child, Kihyun couldn't relate to the brother’s pain at all. His mother, much like Changkyun’s, has always been a worry worm and dotted on him more than moms usually did on their sons as is the case in general when a child is sick. While most of his friends could stay out all night and be gone for days on end even, he was obliged to send reports every few hours to reassure his mother he's just fine and nothing bad happened. He reached his destination, he met up with his friend, they’re hanging out at whatever location and naturally, she has the other person’s phone number if emergency arises. Still breathing and still kicking, if barely. He couldn’t complain about being neglected in that aspect, if anything maybe he’s being overwhelmed by how devoted his mother truly is. At least she is trying, Kihyun reminds himself every time he ends up criticizing her too much for being overbearing. Unlike his father who simply walked out on them when things got too heavy, she kept on supporting him unconditionally. And for that, he’s grateful.

 

“I don't think he's coming back,” Changkyun says after a while, eyes drifted somewhere, maybe counting the tiny cracks on his ceilings, far fewer than the ones in a hospital ward or in Kihyun’s own room. The bed they’re lying on is also more comfortable than any mattress Kihyun is used to. “Do you want him to?” the older asks, hand never stopping its soothing motion. For a self-proclaimed wolf, Changkyun liked to behave like a cat especially if it involved sun hitting his face or being petted. He shifts around until their eyes meet, head still cozy using his boyfriend’s thighs as a pillow. “I don’t really care, I guess. Jooheon’s more like a brother to me anyway. And you’re fine with no siblings, blood ties don’t define how close you are to a person.” That Kihyun could agree with, his father a prime example of blood ties gone bad. Sometimes he wonders what his old man is doing, whether he remarried and some half-siblings are waiting for him out there or he chose to stay alone and miserable. Or maybe he’s living his best life as a bachelor. Kihyun is bitter enough about all the pain that man caused, pain that cannot be redeemed with the soon-ending child support, to wish him the worst.

 

“What are you thinking about? Do I have to help you bury a corpse later?” Changkyun asks amused and that smile never fails to make Kihyun mirror one of his own. The older shakes his head, not up to discuss more family issues, even if Changkyun’s the only one to know the full story behind his mother raising him all alone with help from granny Yoo. He distracts both of them instead with a soft, swift kiss, a press of lips he constantly longs for, an embrace he’s always reluctant to get out of. Changkyun appreciates it a lot, if the hand reaching to tangle in his hair is any indication. Despite being so anxious about dating another person with cf and assuming all the risks it implied, the decision brought so much peace of mind to Kihyun. As long as he follows his treatments with the strictest regularity and pushes Changkyun into doing the same, he’s sure they can avoid any complications. And once he’s out of his mother’s house, nobody can come between them. They just need to be careful for about one more year and avoid suspicions, and although he’d like to share the cute photos he has with Changkyun or at least set one as his lock screen, their patience will pay back later. “I love you.”

 

Changkyun smiles, not that he ever stops with his boyfriend around, and when he sits up, he cups Kihyun’s cheeks in both his hands gently like he’s the most precious being to have walked this earth. And for Changkyun, he is. Kihyun can see it in his eyes, so sincere and shadowless in their glances, can feel it in his touch, so loving and soft in his caress, can hear it in his heart when their foreheads rest against each other. They kiss again with more fervor and less delicacy, an urgency to feel alive burning under their skin. The fire is no smoldering flame, passive and benign, but an entire pyrotechnics show that steals Kihyun’s breath away and he needs something to cling to in order not to melt under this immense heat. He chooses, naturally, Changkyun, yet feeling the other’s skin pressed so intimately against his own when their T-shirts come off, thrown somewhere on the rug, makes him shiver. “Who said you can be on top?” he teases, although his legs are perfectly spread to accommodate Changkyun between them.

 

The younger gives him a questionable look, that eyebrow raise his boyfriend finds so damn attractive and infuriating in equal measure, especially since Changkyun got that piercing. However, he doesn’t stop Kihyun from flipping them around and rolling on the king sized bed for good measure, not when he has the perfect angle to kiss his neck. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” he asks playfully, still not rejecting Kihyun’s initiatives but not being helpful either when the other boy struggles to get rid of the rest of their undergarments. Admittedly, Kihyun had no idea. Before Changkyun he hasn’t collected many experiences of the kind and unlike the brunet, he hasn’t shared the sheets with another person before either. Sure, he’s had a girlfriend in middle school with whom he went on supposed dates and shared lunch in the cafeteria but that sort of juvenile infatuation could be in no way compared to what they have and what is to come. “Isn’t it only fair though? Like this it will be something new for both,” Kihyun argues eventually, his plea so convincing when mouthed with teeth on Changkyun’s thigh.

 

Often, Kihyun felt seasick as though he’s some convicted hero, damned to sail the oceans of life through storms and blizzards, blinded by thunder and the dark-clouded sky, fighting endlessly with the water drowning him in alone in an abyss of despair. With Changkyun’s arms wrapped around him, he did not fear his boat rocking and toppling over, he did not mind choking on no air. With Changkyun looking so vulnerable beneath him, mouth gaping and eyes thrown back in pleasure, he felt like not even death could separate their union, like together they are invincible in front of the cruel time, the days passing by like the swaying of a ship. For he only breathes when Changkyun shares his breath and he only lives when he receives the other’s reassurance of what is real, steering away from the waves of sterile panic bombarding his mind. “I love you,” Changkyun whispers against the crown of his head, the warm golden hours dropping glorious shadows over them. Kihyun wants to believe that this is his reward, the gratification of his course. He wants to believe they’ll stay like this ‘til death does them apart.

 

_chasing cars - snow patrol_

 

As much as he himself tries to oversee his restless cough, Kihyun’s mother is adamant when it comes to preventive checkups. Truthfully, his oxygen saturation hasn’t dropped much, still fluctuating around and even over 85 on good days, a reasonable value considering his previous temporary dependence to oxygen that seems ready to make a comeback. His lung function is still considerably low and below 40%, but there are few chances of it ever improving anyway and Kihyun’s gotten used to the struggle of ‘ _breathing through a straw_ ’ as doctors so liked to put it. He didn’t quite get it though, he couldn’t when this defective inspiration is all he’s known since he could remember. And to solidify the feeling of being forsaken, his pediatrician seems to have already cut off Kihyun from her attending patients’ list, dismissing his case and trying to sell his mother sweet donuts of these being usual cold symptoms she should be able to identify on her own by now. “Nonetheless, it’s better to contact the physician in charge of adults and discuss getting on the waiting list.”

 

 _The waiting list_. How much Kihyun dreaded those words. “Don’t you think you should try though? You got nothing to lose,” Changkyun suggests hesitantly after one such checkup in autumn. It’s cold and windy, and they’re huddled up in the cafe next to the younger’s high school. The dark eye bags have returned to his boyish face and Kihyun feels bad for holding his boyfriend out, even more, when he’d better be home taking a nap before his afternoon inhalations. Being homeschooled, he forgot just how difficult it was to manage all four to six regains of inhalations in a day, given breaks are mandatory in between so the solutions don’t mix in your lungs and cancel each other. Waking up at five so he’d be in time for his eight a.m class then going to sleep past midnight when his treatment for the day is finally completed easily becomes absolutely exhausting, not to mention how stressful school in itself can get and how a sick body can’t carry itself the same way. Perhaps it would have been better not to meet up today, even if his current infection is indeed just a cold. “It’s Chinese water torture,” Kihyun shakes his head. “They’re deceiving you with this supposed second chance but in the end, you still die.”

 

“We all die,” Changkyun stresses out, the frown between his brows not setting well with Kihyun. “Exactly, so what difference is it between dying in two years and dying in five?” the older shrugs and looks away. The topic makes him uncomfortable, far from what he had in mind when he basically begged Changkyun to meet him at their usual date setting, but he’s a desperate man. Ever since school started again, they didn’t see much of each other if at all, either preoccupied with recaps for the CSAT (Kihyun) or an avalanche of homework (Changkyun), besides the lurking storms and grim weather the cold season ought to bring. All that and a _possible_ cold on top, it’s no wonder weeks passed since they sat across from each other. Changkyun seems to ignore the news on Kihyun’s further decaying health, not shy to hold his boyfriend’s hand in public anymore or to play with his fingers. People give them strange looks, Kihyun’s not sure if it has something to do with them being openly homosexual or with him having a freezing oxygen tank on the extra chair at their table − just in case he gets too tired on his way back.

 

“The difference,” the younger sighs and something about that breaks Kihyun’s heart before the words even reach him. “Is that we get to spend those extra years together, babe. Cf fucks us up enough and already steals a lot of moments as it is. We can’t even celebrate your eighteenth birthday next month because our moms would freak out if they found us in the same room. Let’s at least try to enjoy what we have…” Kihyun’s never been good at holding his tears back but he grits his teeth and wills his eyes not to water more than they already had. Changkyun squeezes his hand, waiting for a reply but all he can muster is a slight nod. The brunet has a point, he always does being the far more reasonable side of this relationship and Kihyun feels guilty for not considering that beforehand. Doesn’t it make him selfish, thinking his death impacts no one but himself? Seeing his terminality as nothing more than an escape from the torment he’s lived the past decades?

 

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracks and Changkyun leans in to wipe away a rolling tear with his thumb. Spoiling his tea with honey, Kihyun takes short sips of the hot drink to soothe his sore throat, his lungs still hurting from the spirometry he’s been subject to earlier this morning. The nurse has made him repeat the test about four times until she was pleased with the results − as pleased as one can be with his diagnostic. “If it comes to it, I’ll try to get on that list. For you,” Kihyun promises solemnly, hands holding onto Changkyun’s bony ones. He’s lost weight again and Kihyun knows from his own experience that can only indicate an increased deterioration of the other’s digestive system. He doesn’t ask further if Changkyun’s taking his enzymes and vitamins, if he has time to drink a shake between classes, if he has enough healthy snacks in between his regular meals, and Changkyun doesn’t push him further on how this is not an issue to be treated so lightly, how no emergency would be able to get him on the waiting list and it should already find him there among other prospective names.

 

“This time next year you’ll be visiting me in my new dormitory,” Kihyun grins in a poor attempt to change the subject. His chest vibrates with every syllable and his voice visibly wavers but he sets his jaw not to let the ugly cough break free. Not that there is much to let out after a thorough bronchoscopy performed wideawake. One, two, three, _Just breathe_ . Only a month left and he’ll be transferred to the adults’ ward, he’ll no longer be considered underage and everything will change for the better, he expects. “And I’ll take you on some cool dates,” Changkyun grins at that promise, playfulness raising his pierced eyebrow higher, “We can do whatever you want in Seoul, go to the arcades or eat somewhere nice or, you know, whatever.” Without noticing, Changkyun’s verbal tic seems to have been passed on to him and so has the habit of using English words like _whatever_. “Maybe hang out with Hyungwon and Hoseok too,” he adds as an afterthought.

 

The two have been quite busy after moving on to university, and Jooheon’s been chasing Dior more vehemently than in the last semester, leaving the couple mostly on their own. It’s a sort of shared solidarity Kihyun actually enjoys, yet he’d probably revish in an anathema as long as he’s got Changkyun next to him. Holding onto these fragile, afflicted arms, full of needle scars and future liver spots gives him more strength than a dose of injected adrenaline. He plants a tiny kiss near the fresh tattoo that’s still healing, an idiotic riot the younger got himself into recently. The ink is simple and neat though and he knows Changkyun meant it as a representation of the double edged sword his life has been so far. He likes it and it only seems fitting on his boyfriend. “And sneak behind your roommate to have a quickie?” The shameless question stirs a rich blush in Kihyun’s sculpted cheeks, the peculiar sentimentalism completely ruined with that one question. Changkyun’s laugh makes up for it though.

 

Unfortunately, they run short of time after just over one hour spent in ignorant bliss when Kihyun must run back home quickly to make sure he reaches the small apartment before his mother does and Changkyun has to deal with his own scholar duties. Although he protests at first, given his nose is runny and his cough quite brutal, it doesn’t take much convincing to let Changkyun steal a kiss or two or maybe even a few as they both head to the subway station. “Text me when you get home,” Kihyun asks in a mumble, a bad feeling coiling in his stomach, some sort of sixth sense that rarely kicks in this strongly and it immediately turns him in a worried mess. Last time he could remember it, granny Yoo had a minor heart attack she managed to overcome yet survival didn’t make the story any less heavy. Much like his own, if he thinks about it. Still, right now the only person who could stirr such a protective instinct, whom he loved with such devotion he’d be able to sense danger approaching, that person is none other than Changkyun. “Or better, let’s talk on the way, yeah?” his suggestion is interrupted by a rude cough. Damn it, hold it together for one moment stupid lungs.

 

Not doing anything to relieve some of his anxiety, Changkyun shakes his head and shrugs from his shoulders, fixing his backpack strap. “Phone’s already dead, babe. But I promise to give you a ring when I charge it, okay?” With one more kiss and this only promise, Kihyun gets on the train still bothered by that irksome feeling. The trip home takes as always exactly forty minutes, the traffic not as condensed as later in the afternoon and sticking to the fixed schedule Kihyun liked to follow. His mother should be home by five o’clock, provided she’s not working extra hours at the office − she often did so they could afford his treatments, and if she were to be late for dinner than his grandma would surely visit soon with some delicious food. Living in the same neighborhood with the old woman had many advantages, but his mother picked this modest house mainly on its handy location that allowed granny Yoo to check fast on her grandson if needed.

 

Although Changkyun lives not too far from his own school, there’s no confirmation message in his inbox when he pulls out his key to unlock the door. Only to find it already unlocked. The sickening feeling returns in full force and Kihyun’s almost shaking when he enters his home and finds his mother in the kitchen with a grim expression on her face. “Where have you been?” she asks as soon as the door is closed. Kihyun expected such a scenario, an overthinker lets no rock unturned and being caught by his mother in such circumstances has often crossed his mind. Therefore, the lie’s already sitting on the tip of his tongue, “Out. I had to pick up some books from the library.” It makes perfect sense considering how studious he’s been lately, preparing intensely for the difficult exams. He might be in love and he might be a total fool for what he’s doing, trespassing beyond dangerous realms with this forbidden love of his, but he’s not irresponsible. Whether he dies tomorrow or in a decade from now, Kihyun wants to have completed his education, or as much as he can from it. To solidify his statement, the boy pulls out of his bag two chemistry textbooks borrowed indeed from the local library.

 

“You’re not hiding something from me, are you, son?” Mrs. Yoo presses further and Kihyun prays his whole frame is not trembling like he feels himself to be. “What could I be hiding mom?” he scoffs, assuming an offended position. First mistake, one he often repeats whenever he’s lying or trying to cover up his tracks. His phone still hasn’t displayed any signs of life from the younger boy and that worries Kihyun perhaps even more than it should when he’s pushed against the wall for a metaphorical search up. “Oh, what do I know. You kids always find something to lie about,” the mother shrugs and gets up from the table to stir in one of the pots on the oven. The smell of fried chicken invades Kihyun’s nostrils and he can only assume there are more delicious side dishes to be served along. What’s the occasion that requires his favorite food? “Thinking you know better than your elders, that you can trick us easily. I used to give your granny a hard time as well, I admit. When I was your age I thought I had everything figured out and I knew exactly how far I could push my limits. Most of the time, you think you have no limits when you’re that young,” she continues wistfully, her words cutting sharp through Kihyun’s mind like her knife chops onions on the wooden board.

 

There are so many questions assaulting Kihyun from all sides that it makes him nauseous to the core and he takes his first chance to flee and dashes to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He has no respite to wonder why his mom is earlier home and preparing dinner, he has no leisure to try and decipher her twisted remarks, he has no break to conceive a quick yet flawless plan. “Kihyun,” his name is called and the boy is aware there is no fire escape he can climb out of at the moment to avoid this confrontation, no safety route to follow according to a well-established scheme. She knows something, obviously, but to what extent he’s unaware of for now and, shit, can’t Changkyun respond to his obnoxious messages already instead of letting him boil? He takes his sweet time to change from street clothes into something comfier and to wash up all the bacteria from his hands thoroughly, twice, like he’s been taught to since little. There’s something therapeutic in rubbing soap over your own skin, something in that foam that gets you thinking. But no epiphanies pop up from those bubbles.

 

“How long has this been going on?” his mother asks when he finally returns in the kitchen trailing his feet, her voice quiet, beaten but not defeated. There’s a sadness in her eyes that wasn’t there this morning when she was arguing with the doctors and asking the nurses to treat her son better, there’s a hurt he’s seen in the past once when his father turned his back to their family, to his wife and child. Never has Kihyun wanted to be more wrong about an assumption than in that very moment when his skin still itches where Changkyun touched him and his mouth still longs to feel his boyfriend’s love professed over and over again. His mother, though, sees right through it. With one simple look, Kihyun gets all the answers he dreaded to receive even before his phone finally vibrates in the pocket of his trousers. One simple text from a contact saved under a purple heart emoji, two simple words that shattered everything he’s been trying to hold together so far.

  
‘ _they know’  
_

 

 

_already gone - sleeping at last_

 

Everything that followed is a painful blur Kihyun tried to block from his memory but failed to do so miserably, every second of heartbreak permanently ingrained on his gray heart like a plague he can’t get rid of. To put it simply, he’s been grounded for life, much like Changkyun for that matter, though he only discovers this much later. Life keeps moving forward without his consent and despite his constant efforts against it. Days, weeks, months. And then a whole new year with no sign from his boyfriend, nothing but those damned two words he hates ringing deafly in his ear. _They know_. Although a reasonably quiet child growing up, Kihyun has finally reached his breaking teenage point full of angst and anguish in which he throws all he holds dear out the window for the sake of revolting against his parent. And still.

Still, no matter how much he charged against his mother, no matter how many fights he picked up with her like never before, no matter how harsh his attacks got, the woman refused him access to his phone and laptop for a long time. If Kihyun wanted to look up something online, he could very well do it as long as it was related directly to school and only once she was at home to supervise him. The austere isolation was beyond mind-numbing and the boy considered jumping out a window too many times to be considered sane at this point. Hell, he doubted there was any sanity left in him when his mind was so consumed by one obsessive thought: talk with Changkyun. Separated? They’ve been apart before, they’ve lived most of their lives without knowing each other even, and although it would hurt and crack whatever was left from his bloody cord, he might have been able to come to terms with it. Yet how could anyone expect him to get over his first love, how could they expect him to pretend like Changkyun didn’t rip a piece of his soul when he said goodbye that afternoon. Is it too selfish of him to believe he’s done the same?

Obviously, Kihyun found himself under lock and key in house arrest throughout the cold months, studying barely distracting him from the suffering his chest wielded in more than one way. Many times he wondered if this could be his only chance of seeing Changkyun once more, but a holiday hospitalization is not really the gift he expects from Santa. Without the younger by his side, Kihyun felt like he would perish and he was sure his ribs would crumble under the weight of his broken heart. And eventually, his rebel yell went hoarse barely above a whisper and more like a whimper of his lover’s name through tears at night. Most days, granny Yoo would keep a watchful eye over him, making sure he doesn’t skip his treatments nor meals and that her daughter’s son doesn’t do anything mad while she’s at the office. However, granny Yoo also had a very tender and gentle heart and often indulged her grandson’s caprices. With some begging and not much acting needed, Kihyun manages to escape his prison for one day.

He runs at a stretch all the way to Changkyun’s school with no oxygen or inhalators in his pocket, just a big scarf to keep him warm and an open wound to heal. The imposing building only farther fuels his rage he carried for everything that stood between him and the other boy. So he sets watch by the gates, waiting for the lunch bell to ring and the younger to come out of class looking as hurt as he too felt. Minutes pass like hours and hours pass like decades, yet it’s not difficult for Kihyun to realize he was too little too late. No trace of Changkyun anywhere. Surely, this could be easily explained. Changkyun, after all, has the same chronic illness as he does and skipping school, especially in winter, is completely understandable. Perhaps he had a sick day or maybe the boy’s even been hospitalized already − with no way to contact him and no updates when there are no calls to eavesdrop on, Kihyun has absolutely no idea what has happened with his boyfriend.

And then, he bumps into Jooheon. “Kihyun? Oh, man, Kihyun! I can’t believe I’d see you here!” the younger boy shouts once he’s collected his jaw off the ground and as thankful as Kihyun is for the tight hug he missed dearly, he’s too preoccupied with all the possible scenarios flooding his head. He doesn’t even pay attention to the girl trying to pull Jooheon away before asking, “Where is Changkyun?” A hurt look crosses Jooheon’s face and Kihyun expects to hear the worst, he expects the earth to crack open and swallow him whole. Yet Jooheon fills him in on what he’s missed, word flying like a track out of his mouth, “Changkyun’s going to move schools next semester, we’re already done with all finals and tests so he hasn’t been around this week. I’ve heard about it, man, I’m so sorry.” Kihyun takes a deep breath of the cold air, the icy stakes pricking at his lungs. “His parents want to take him away for good, move to Boston with his brother. They say there are better doctors there and all that bullshit. Changkyun believes they just wanna take him away from you.”

_Boston_. Like the American city found on the other side of the world with probably over twelve hours difference in their time zones, a city so far away Kihyun would never be able to even board on a plane to take him there. His heart cracks a little more, shards getting blown in the dry wind and leaving him a hollow shell. At least his pieces may reach Changkyun like this. He hugs Jooheon again thankful for finding out the truth at last, a goodbye he never quite got to wish to Changkyun. Despite liking the guy a lot, Kihyun knows Jooheon has enough on his plate with only one cf-ill friend. After years of being pushed away for being too much to handle, he knows when he’s overstayed his welcome. His mother says nothing that night, nor does she say the next or the one that follows. If Changkyun tried to contact him then, Kihyun will never know. Cut from the world and with no other friends around to worry for his fate, Kihyun returns to the dark pit he’s sat in alone for years.

  
  
  


 

Many months later, he finds the lightless corner empty, all his things already packed in boxes and bags ready to move to university. “You’ll call me every morning after your inhalations, at least once during your breaks and every night before bed,” his mother recaps in the minivan they managed to book for the occasion. Not that he has a lot of belongings he’s taking along for the brand new life, or what is left of it anyway. Once excited at the perspective of being on his own and exploring a world previously locked away, now Kihyun sits apathetic and looking out the window at the cloudless sky. He checks his phone for good measure, replies to the text Hyunwoo sent him a while ago and pretends not to have grabbed the device only to see how late it is in Boston. A little over midnight. Has Changkyun finished his inhalations by now, he wonders, zoning out on his mother’s guardian speech. “I’ll try to send a package every month with frozen dishes you can heat up yourself, in case I won’t be able to be there when you have your checkups −”

It’s useless to bring up that he’s a grown man now, that he’s been one for a while and that he doesn’t need somebody to check if he’s still breathing in his sleep. She’d never listen anyway, too worried he’ll be a moron and jeopardize his life. Sure, there aren’t many reasons for him to continue this Sisyphean task called existence, he can’t really see any light at the end of the tunnel either, but knowing the tunnel is running shorter each day and eventually he will reach its end is a sort of macabre comfort he can’t explain. He’s in no rush to reach it for now though, but it’s no use explaining to a troubled mother that her child is only passively suicidal, the type where he wouldn’t act out on it but if a car were to hit him, well he wouldn’t move out of its direction. Seoul is quite far from home, a place so foreign Kihyun almost feels like an immigrant in the big capital, yet something even stranger tells him he’s truly found a home. It’s not a hunch as strong as when he’d hold Changkyun close and listen to his beating heart, finding a steady rhythm to keep him anchored, but it definitely has a certain tinge of _something_.

After a long drive and even longer rants about what he should be careful of and who to look out for and what is best to eat at cafeterias, Kihyun finally reaches the campus and within, his new dormitory. The RA gives him a quick tour once he presents all his documents and proves he is who he is, then he has a whole six meters on six box to decorate. His mother starts working on it immediately, rubbing every inch of it clean with various strong disinfectant products that irritate the brown haired boy greatly. He’s definitely not going to do that on his own, but with a mask on his face and thick gloves he’ll be able to take care of the dust and vacuum regularly. His room has always been clean and tidy at home, almost compulsively so, so Kihyun doesn’t really worry about future maintenance. What makes him worry though is the _slightly_ taller blond guy who barges in uninvited into the apartment. “Hello!!” comes a sunny smile and way too many exclamation points that make Kihyun twitch.

“I’m Minhyuk, we must be roommates this semester,” the dude introduces himself, holding his hand out for Kihyun to shake but when he steps closer, Kihyun clearly notices two things. One, Minhyuk’s pupils are dilated. Two, his clothes _stink_ like weed. Oh, God. Oh, God, no, his mother is going to _freak_ out. The most basic household rule she applied ever since Kihyun was very little − no smokers of any kind around him. Sharing a tiny flat with one at university? A big fat no from her. Not to be rude, Kihyun shakes his new flatmate’s hand and returns the favor. “I’m Yoo Kihyun. You’re doing your BA?” he tries to aim at some basic small talk, anything to keep the blond away from his mother’s hound nose, no matter how annoying he already finds the other. His politeness must be easily misinterpreted, given how enthusiastic Minhyuk nods and unceremoniously drops his baggage in the middle of their very tiny kitchen. “Yeah, yea’, first semester for architecture. How ‘bout you?”

“Engineering physics…” Kihyun draws out, frowning when out of all the possible things a student could do once they get the keys to their dorm room, Minhyuk opens the fridge and then starts filling it up with tons of food containers. Probably enough to get him through the winter. _What even_ . “Ah, how nice!” his mother sneaks up from behind, the mop still in her hand. “Is this your new friend?” she asks rhetorically with the same honeyed voice Kihyun _knows_ she uses whenever she either wants to kiss somebody’s ass or can’t stand them at all. Hopefully, she only wants to make a good first impression and not embarrass her son. “I’m Lee Minhyuk, ma’am,” the blond grins and has the audacity to kiss his mother’s hand. Kihyun stares gaping at the scene. “Don’t you worry, I’ll look after your son,” he adds. “The RA explained to me, he has some medical problems? I’ve aced a first aid course once! So if anything happens, your son will be safe with me.”

Not believing what’s happening right before his eyes, his mother and this stranger talking about him in third person as though he weren’t even there, Kihyun remains quiet leaning against the doorframe. Whatever. As long as his mother doesn’t say a thing about weed. He checks his phone again and notices the sun must be rising right about now in Boston. Does Changkyun still have to get up at the break of dawn for his inhalations? Now that he’s back into the system, Kihyun will have to join him once again and set fifteen alarms for all his medication. That’s a part of the college experience he isn’t really looking forward to, but his mother finally leaving him alone a few hours later surely is. It’s a tough goodbye to say, given the biggest distance between them has been whenever Kihyun went alone to the supermarket down the street. And between the tears wetting his shoulder, Kihyun too feels bitter for mistreating the woman who gave birth to him. The woman who was ready to sacrifice whatever she could to see him happy and healthy. The woman who banished Changkyun out of this country. “So, how about a medicinal hit?” Minhyuk winks as soon as Mrs. Yoo is out the door. Kihyun sighs and prays to make it to the end of this semester with all his brain cells intact.

 

 

It turns out, Kihyun is an exceptional cook, at least according to Minhyuk and Hyunwoo, who grew into the habit of visiting him frequently ever since he moved to Seoul. From pasta and noodles to a refined risotto, his chef skills far exceeded any other students’ in the dormitory. Some of them knocked on his door not once or twice for a plate of whatever dish he was serving that night, the smell stirring hunger in all the broke students’ bellies. Minhyuk came up with the idea of putting a fee on it but Kihyun simply rolled his eyes and refused to share from his stock. Now that he’s on his own and has to manage his expenses carefully, he realized just how expensive food can actually be so he’s digillent when it comes to wasting anything. That would make him a scrooge in the eyes of many, but Kihyun thinks of himself as _prudent_. Besides, university can’t even compare to primary education, can’t even compare to the hell CSAT had been for him as a homeschooled pupil, and now that noone is here to take care of basic house chores, his treatments take an even bigger toll on him.

Minhyuk offers to take care of the common area at least, provided he’s sober enough to remember it, which is nearly never but alas it’s not like they’re living in a pigsty (yet). Still, he’s a sweet guy and charming enough that even Kihyun gives in to it and takes over dinner responsibilities as long as the blond promises to do the dishes and take out the trash. Hyunwoo would often drop by with the dessert, his own dorm room not too far away to reach. For tonight, Kihyun’s thinking of something simple but healthier than the instant frozen bags everyone around them seems to devour. Some beef, a large portion of vegetables to broil, and a sturdy ratio of boiled rice next to it should suffice, nothing too heavy he can’t carry in his backpack. Double checking he’s got everything they − well, technically he −  needed, Kihyun leaves the groceries store and braces himself to face his biggest enemy since mucus appeared in his lungs. A humpy hill he has to climb every day from the bus station next to the stores and up to his dorm, a miniature mountain that appears to laugh in front of his misery and mock his pathetic torment.

Elevating the level of oxygen his tank provided, he verifies again the straps and then the tube and slowly sets off, hoping to get to the door before the meat defrosts. The ‘hiking’ takes about twenty minutes in his bad days, whereas Minhyuk could race him for five and less. Nonetheless, Kihyun’s in no rush and he can’t find anything motivating enough to make him hurry so he takes his time with the abrupt slope. There’s only more lab reports to write once he gets back home anyway. However, as he kept walking, the tank on his side got lighter and lighter until it barely weighted at all and Kihyun stops in his tracks. His oxygen is gone. “Fuck,” he curses out loud and a loud cough erupts from deep in his lungs. Acting on auto-pilot, he pulls out of his jeans pocket a little pulse-oximeter he lets dangling from his finger. He’s halfway through already and maybe if he takes the shortcut on the stairs between the houses, maybe he can make it in one piece. No hill will ever defeat him or bring him down.

Step by step and little by little, he approaches the infinite string of stairs leading up to the alley just down his dormitory. One hundred steps, he’s counted them many times, usually when he’s late and has to run for a bus. He takes ten and glances at the little screen, digits showing him a 65% oxygen saturation and a 138 heart beats per minute. That’s not too bad and so he continues pushing, his bag hanging stuffy on his back and chest feeling tighter with every breath. Ten more steps and wooziness kicks in so he stops for a short pause, the other eighty stairs waiting along looking down on him viciously. Kihyun frowns, rips the now useless tube away from his nose and continues, wishing to prove them wrong even more. He might be impaired in many ways, but that’s no reason to give up. Ten more steps, fifteen. His breathing has long since been turned into panting when he reaches the middle yet now his eyes sting, as he forces them to stay open.

Faintly, his hearing goes dull to the point the autumn birds’ trill gets muted by the insane drums in his ears. He can only focus enough to read 45-180, his eyes giving up on colors and shifting into black and white sceneries as he sits down for a little breather. 40-186.

  
_Black._

 

🌹🌹🌹


	3. just breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kihyun is sure it would be too late. He can feel it with every fiber of his body, he can see it when his eyes roll back overwhelmed by the terrible shivers and the light that comes out of nowhere. This time, there’s no doubt in his mind. Tonight, he is going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **this chapter contains graphic details of various medical procedures and conditions** which might not be appropriate if you have a weak heart or stomach. feel free to skip through the text if it makes you too uncomfortable, yet the whole point of it is to stir such a reaction

_🌹🌹🌹_

  __

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

_broken - lighthouse_

 

 

One, two, three, _inhale_ . One, two, three, _exhale_ . With the windows wide open and leaning over the big oxygen tank in his room, Kihyun slowly gains back some color in those sharp cheeks of his. Minhyuk looks over from the doorway strangely sober, Hyunwoo sitting only a few feet away cross-legged on the floor and counting out loud Kihyun’s breathing cycles. “You don’t have to do this, I’m fine,” the engineering student croaks in a raspy voice, immediately forced to take a big gulp of fresh, purified oxygen so he’s not knocked back into unconsciousness and utter darkness. “ _You’re fine_ ?” Minhyuk betones incredulously, finally daring to say something at all. Kihyun doesn’t particularly like what he has to say. “Dude, we thought you were _dead_ when we found you. What if I took a different way home? What if I came back jogging through the forest instead?” the blond accuses, voice progressively increasing in shrill and volume until Kihyun’s pulse jumps up again to dangerously high values. There’s an ache increasingly sharper to his left, a rough hand gripping his heart and squeezing it like a stress ball. Fists clenching his knees for support, he tries to focus again on breathing.

 

Cystic fibrosis, and its resulted diminished saturation of oxygen in blood, naturally puts a lot of pressure on the heart to the point it is to be expected for the rate to reach over 120 beats per minute even with no active infections in the system. Nothing unheard of, nothing to be particularly wary of either. For months now Kihyun hasn’t seen the values go below 110 anyway, no matter how much he spent meditating or doing respiratory exercises meant to help him out. He calls bullshit, like all other alternative medicine supposed to heal his body by first healing his soul. His soul had already been shredded in order to fill in the empty spaces in his lungs. He is fine though, he swears he is _just fine_ , just going through another regular day when he waits for sunset and hopes sunrise never comes again. Everything is fine, everything is _normal −_ not like he wants it to be but like it has to be, stuck in a quickly decaying body and waiting for an escape. _It be like that sometime_ , Kihyun mentally cackles, the words uttered in a deep puberteen voice he misses on a daily basis, the voice of a boy who occupied too much of his time with memes and equally as much trying to just survive the mess clogging up his breathing ways.

 

Nothing unusual, he keeps repeating to himself, yet the deception is hard to infiltrate when Kihyun almost reached heart failure less than an hour ago. Resting on his bed seems surreal when for a moment, he’d completely lost all touch with reality, his senses soundly cut off, and his mind overtaken by a foggy maze. At that moment, his life didn't flash before his eyes nor did he think of all the people he dreads leaving behind. No, he didn't think about his sweet yet airheaded roommate who'd have to explain this whole mess, he didn’t think about his overbearing and loving mother who'd have to bury her only child before she's even fifty, not even about his one and only true love, hiding somewhere in Boston with no idea whatsoever whether Kihyun was still alive to this day. The moment he sat on the concrete, all he could come up with were redundant survival impulses, the urge to fight the dark, the need to keep breathing no matter what. Knowing that it’s never going to get better, he still continued to fight.

 

A schopenhauerian will to live, unexplainable for that matter, kicked in and overcame any passive thoughts he could have had to give up the tiresome fight. Despite hating every aspect of his existence, his flesh and blood, his disabilities and what they made out of him, in that singular second Kihyun clung on to life with the fierceness of a savanna lion mauling a deer with his claws. And not long after he realized the flame is not going out, at least not yet. aA very concerning worry to get home before the beef goes bad had started to bother him once more even when Minhyuk called for Hyunwoo to come help pick up a fallen Kihyun. It's not the first time Kihyun passes out in the streets, not even close, however, no other memory can compare to the intense fear that shook his bones to their marrow. The terrifying sensation pours through his tear ducts slowly, still not fully processed by a shocked mind. Once, he promised Changkyun five more years. Now he’s not sure he can even make it til the end of this one.

 

Hyunwoo needs just to glance in Minhyuk’s direction silently to get him to back off Kihyun’s case and give him some space, no questions asked. Kihyun’s grateful for that, for how his friend could understand his needs without words, for how both of them rushed to help him out when he collapsed to the ground. What would have happened if Minhyuk changed his usual route indeed? What would have happened if Hyunwoo didn’t carry him to the dorm hastily and give him the much needed oxygen? Kihyun doesn’t really want to explore that path, no matter how much of his past time he spends thinking of what’s beyond the black veil. “Thanks for not calling an ambulance,” he mumbles but Hyunwoo shakes his head, frowning and obviously not pleased with how things have ended. “It was Minhyuk’s idea actually, he knew you wouldn’t want that. I still think it would be best to call your doctor,” Hyunwoo warns to which Kihyun shakes his head stubbornly.

 

He’s had this talk with Minhyuk before and it seems like his roommate has listened after all, despite looking more interested in describing the exact taste of water or why buildings use a gerund for a name when they are already built. The boy could be quite entertaining with such existential questions honestly, but more often than not it frustrated Kihyun who felt unable to have any sort of serious discussion with the blond. Despite thinking they wouldn’t be able to cohabit at all in the beginning, Kihyun fell easily into a functional routine with the other _−_ first taking care of himself and his treatments, and if he had enough spoons to share, making sure Minhyuk ate more than a slice of pizza in between his classes. In return, Minhyuk went and bought him meds or came home with takeout from the cafeteria that they could share. He would invite Kihyun to chill in his room and watch Harry Potter together or alternatively serial killer documentaries. This sort of no-in-between combined with a contagious smile made Minhyuk all the more lovable and Kihyun quickly opened up to him.

 

“Unless you can’t feel my pulse, don’t ever call an ambulance,” he told the future architect once, while they were both medicating. Kihyun with his oxygen tank and Minhyuk with a joint. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest thing he had done lately, staying next to the blond while he smoked weed that is, but he enjoyed his company enough for the sacrifice. It goes without saying nobody is allowed to quote him on that though. “I can’t be hospitalized without my mother worrying, you know,” the foreign words bring a bitter smile to his lips. “And I don’t need to be hospitalized anyway, I know my body the best. I know how much I can take.” Hesitantly, Minhyuk brought up the multiple times Kihyun was so sick he couldn’t get out of bed and the only thing he could do is bring him a cup of coffee and at most boil some rice to eat. The times their elevator was out of order and Kihyun could barely make it inside their apartment after climbing seven flights of stairs. The number of compiled absences on his teachers’ attending lists that put him in danger of not being able to even take the exam in the first place. Many such moments gathered the past year they've lived together but summer is soon approaching and Kihyun thinks that if he's made it so far on his own, he can make it for the rest of his short-lived days. “It comes with the whole package,” Kihyun shrugged, not seeing anything strange about it.

 

“My doctor will do shit,” he turns now to Hyunwoo much like he explained to Minhyuk in the past. He felt quite resentful towards the new woman in charge of his case after she ignored all of his emails describing symptoms he never experienced before, not to mention, “All she does when I go for my prescription is recommend me to drop out and go back home, spend all the time I got left with my mom. She knows my insurance could never cover a transplant so she doesn’t even bother to bring it up.” And that is the sad truth you only hear once you’ve reached your terminal stage or you’ve become an adult unprotected by a caregiver. Like it isn’t enough that his smart money has been cut in half after turning eighteen since the regulations diverged greatly, despite the illness only aggravating in the meantime; but now he also has to deal with this sort of discussion each time he enters a hospital. The first time doctor Kwan not so subtly hinted at it, Kihyun called his mother and told her exactly what upset him. “My son,” she said on the phone barely trying to hold back her fatigue, “Remember all the times doctors told you in the past you’re not gonna make it and you proved them wrong. You are a fighter, never forget it.”

 

How sad no one could see how tired he is of being a fighter though, of hearing this sort of praise for simply surviving when he’d like nothing more than it all to end. Hyunwoo gives him one of those teddy bear looks that makes their friendship all the more precious but which he couldn’t deal with right now. Compassion could not put down the fire of his rage towards the system, towards his body, towards existence in itself. In moments like these, he misses Changkyun the most, he misses being able to vent on issues like this and be understood, not just sympathized. Supposedly, he could go around and search for some online support group for cf but it wouldn’t be the same, and he knows it because none of them are his Kyun. His heart aches again, the empty hole Changkyun left bigger than any other in his chest _−_ and believe him when he says there are many, cardiac muscle pumping cold blood through bullet wounds mechanically. There it is again, the urge to search for the younger now that his mother has no more control over him. Yet, like all previous intentions have awakened, a voice reminds him that if Changkyun wanted to be found, he would have given a sign in the past year they’ve been apart.

 

A sharp breeze of spring air bursts through the open window, making the drapes flutter and forecasting a dark storm. The wind keeps blowing through the room, filling his lungs and cooling his heated face, circling around the discarded books and clothes and pill bottles spread all over the floor, and finally snapping the door shut as the current met its mirrored version coming from Minhyuk’s room. The loud slam seems to shake the entire building and Kihyun with it, like an earthquake splitting the world into two unequal halves. A few books fall off the shelf above his desk without warning, dragging down with them the amethyst rock Kihyun kept as a lucky charm. The very first gift Changkyun gave him a few weeks after they started dating, a rock meant to bring him stability and peace of mind and make him think of the younger boy when troubled. A purple crystal, Changkyun’s favorite color and implicit Kihyun’s, but also the color of the cf ribbon nobody knows about. Deep and heavy, much like the one who gifted it, it’s one of Kihyun’s favorite possessions and it falls right on top of his watch, smashing the glass in tiny pieces.

 

“Fuck,” Kihyun curses sitting up and inspecting the damage done. Most days he wears the watch on his left wrist, more out of habit to cover old marks than for its actual purpose or some sort of fashion statement. The only day he didn’t and he left it on his desk instead, this happens. He looks at the sharp shards, at the tongues going backward as though they could reverse time and then stopping altogether, completely frozen forever and stuck much like Kihyun is feeling. Kihyun has a very bad inkling in this gut about this but he simply throws the watch in his nightstand drawer for now while Hyunwoo tucks back the fallen books without saying a word. Minhyuk decides it is the proper moment to return with a frozen pizza kept for emergencies, coming back from the common kitchen with a wide grin and blown out pupils. With a sigh, Kihyun rolls his eyes but accepts the peace offering, sending his friends off as soon as he’s done eating his cut, assuring them once more that he’s alright and, “Thanks again.”

 

He can’t sleep that night, oxygen tank obnoxiously loud next to his bed, the light from his lamp too bright yet still better than complete darkness, and the window opened above his head. Perhaps he should close it up, at least to keep away the big bugs that Minhyuk usually shrieks for him to kill, but something stops him. He looks at the moon, its sickly yellow of wax and the craters like an unheard scream. Changkyun liked Munch’s works and the comparison hasn’t left his mind ever since. Glancing at the culprit stone, the amethyst reflects nothing of its surroundings, roots still white and tips a dark violet. “Purple swallows light,” Changkyun explained to him once. They were in their usual cafe discussing some of Poe’s works the younger studied at his English school, but as usual, their discussion diverged quickly to other topics. Changkyun liked showing his expertise in random fields, like color symbolism, and Kihyun ate all of it up. Anything to see that rare spark of life flare in dark orbs.

 

“It’s a color for mourning and for secrecy. Quite fitting for us, don’t you think?” Then, Kihyun could only think that Changkyun’s fingers fit perfectly between his own and that the coffee was too bitter for his taste but he’d drink coal if it meant he would spend more time with his love. “So you give me a rock to keep our relationship secret which, well, would ultimately lead to one of us mourning?” Changkyun shook his head and gave his hand a squeeze, a jolt of electricity instantly transmitted onto Kihyun, a pleasant shockwave aimed for his heart. “No, dummy. I’m giving you this amethyst to protect you and remind you of this salty half-dead boy who wishes he didn’t have to keep his love a secret.” Kihyun kept him to his word and carried around the raw stone at all times, wanting to believe that promise more than anything, wanting to have a part of Changkyun all to himself. However, the crystal appears to have turned against him now and he can't shake off that this must be some sort of omen. He’s never been superstitious by nature, yet what is he supposed to make out of his broken watch?

 

 

_not about angels - birdy  
_

 

 

He gets the answer and many other unexpected ones only days later, fever and delirium taking over any rational side of him and clouding his vision. Colors replace the utter darkness experienced on those concrete stairs, floating above his bed like stained mist and veiling his trembling form in a puzzling fog. The thought of calling Minhyuk pops up a few times but each attempt of opening his mouth and shouting after the other boy gets cut off quickly when his voice is unable to come out as anything but a primitive groan at most and a whimper at lowest. And at what use anyway? Minhyuk is no healer outside his multiplayer games, he is no doctor to cure him either and before he’d be able to call for one, Kihyun is sure it would be too late. He can feel it with every fiber of his body, he can see it when his eyes roll back overwhelmed by the terrible shivers and the light that comes out of nowhere. This time, there’s no doubt in his mind. Tonight, he is going to die.

Earlier he’s found himself once again incapacitated to even as much as drag himself across the hallway to the bathroom to puke gastric juice in lack of some proper food occupying his stomach. He’s skipped classes after the supposed might-have-been-heart attack incident, so sure that bed rest and a treatment plan cropped out of nothing but pure speculation based on his own experience would fix the problem. Determined as always to find a solution on his own with no help from the outside, Kihyun tried first some additional inhalations to fluidify the thick mucus and expectorate it easier but that only further irritated his throat more with no concrete results. On the other hand, taking the antibiotics doctor Kwan prescribed him recently had stirred a suspicious reaction from his lungs, the green fluids overflowing each time he coughed and barely giving him a break to breathe at all. As though possessed, he finished all his tissues before bedtime and had to retort to just spitting in the trash bin directly as unhygienic and disgusting it was.

Minhyuk offered to help, of course, either by bringing him food or making tea or running to the pharmacy for more analgesics, but Kihyun would have none of it and only asked to be left alone instead. The blond insisted still that if he managed to take care of him that one-time Kihyun got drunk out of his mind, crying over “some ex-guy” and not being able to even change his puke-dirtied clothes, he’s more than capable to look after Kihyun one more night. To that, Kihyun slammed the door right in his face and then crawled back under his blanket, popping ibuprofen and paracetamol every few hours. So here he is now, some time past three in the morning, hopelessly struggling to breathe while his tank is pumped up to its maximum volume, roaring in vain so loudly the neighbors might hear it. Actually, he’s surprised Minhyuk hasn’t come yet to check how his exorcism is going. Kihyun sure as hell feels like Regan, his head ready to snap around before he climbs up on the walls like a spider. And yet, he’s paralyzed in bed, struck to the unstable grounds shifting like waters under him.

The pained tears flow freely, amplifying his headache ten folds to the point it feels like a hammer uses him for an anvil, pounding his brains and forging the grey matter into blacksmith clay. The bag of emergency meds falls from where he’s put it earlier next to his pillow and Kihyun barely has the strength to roll on his side and blindly search for a thermometer. He’s burning and the sheets are strangling him and although the window is open and a cold breeze hits him in the face every now and then, there seems to be no air left in this world for him to breathe. A loud beeping notifies him of the critical temperature and for a second, his voice cracks in a dry laugh. _40.8 °C_. For a man whose normal blood never boils below 35.5, he ought to be dead right now. There’s relief in that realization, the sort of relief that only comes when you see the finish line but know there’s no point to cross it anymore when the race has already been lost. And finally, he’s sure this is the end as he tries to reach for his phone and type a goodbye note for whoever finds him in the morning, the device slipping out of his shaking fingers though.

He cries some more, knowing there’s no more reason hence and that he should make peace with the thought of at least discovering whether there’s anything on _the other side_. There’s a strange citric taste on his tongue that makes him carve some cold fruit to extinguish the hazard devastating his red skin, and there’s a tickling sensation running from his toes and up to his chin. The regret of not talking to his mother that day kicks him hard and more than that, the regret of not looking for the boy who left and crossed an ocean with his heart in the luggage. There are so many things he’d have liked to do still, so many places he’s never got to explore. So many songs whose guitar chords he hasn’t learned but planned to. So many things left unsaid to the ones he cares about the most. So much life he’s never got to taste and so much joy that never crossed his way unless it too had a sharp double edge that cut deep.

Faces flash before his eyes, glimpses of landscapes and moments and feelings he could never forget. Summercamp, his physics teacher, his first kiss and the first one that meant something, his father’s retreating back, his mother’s warm embrace, the sweet pies granny Yoo would bake before he returned from school. He spent so much of himself resenting his fate, cursing at the skies, wishing to be dead, and now that he’s getting the chance to meet the great reaper, he finds more strings he could not bear to let go. Kihyun wishes he could thank the boys who taught him friendship is real, that his disability and invalidity do not define him. He wishes he could thank his mother for protecting him from this world for as long as she had, that she tried to keep her baby safe in a bubble, hurting him with the best of intentions only a mother could conjure. Now, he even wishes he could tell his father he forgives him still for leaving like their family meant nothing and that maybe it was for the best this way. And most of all, he wishes he could hold Changkyun’s hand for one last moment and tell the boy just how deep his love goes.

_Not yet_.

Kihyun’s eyes snap open and although he can’t describe the intrusive voice he’s just heard, he _knows_ . Struggling to stay awake and looking ahead, his room seems unchanged, his lamp flickering dimmed light from beneath the purple shade, his tank as loud as ever, oxygen bubbles popping in the worryingly low water. Yet there’s color and there’s fog, so bright and burning his retinas until it physically hurts not to cover them with his eyelids but he still cannot muster to look away. He’s fascinated by the beautiful shadows, the light playing tricks to his mind and making him believe there’s _someone_ here with him, _someone_ coming to reassure and protect him. _Not yet_. And here it comes again, the same divine voice that’s neither deep nor loud, nor quiet nor soft. A voice that’s not his own but it’s neither anyone else’s. Kihyun’s sure he’s losing his mind and this is how his last breaths will play out, he’s sure his heart that certainly beats in risky beats will soon stop completely, and that silence will overtake his screaming thoughts.

However, there’s a serene sense of calmness that washes over him and settles his fuming restlessness. He stops tossing around his winding sheets, stops thinking of all the regrets he leaves behind, and listens to that soothing voice instead, listens and almost believes that, indeed, his time has not come yet. Like a lullaby, the soft mist reflecting the color of the sun long set embraces him and gives him the strength to pick up the fight once more. There are so many things he could still do, so many things he has already overcome, and a fever is not gonna be the one to take him down. Kihyun remembers Hemingway again, how death chased the author to the ends of the world and still couldn’t spoil the man, how only he had been able to make away with himself. And just how inspiring that was, if only for that. How encouraging even for somebody like Kihyun to suck it up and fight until his very last breath and not let a disease or anything else lay violent hands on him.

His eyes close with ease and his erratic breathing, although not much better, quiets down and so do his coughs. With a certainty that has been missing from his life ever since a plane took off to Boston, Kihyun decides to follow the wordless advice and rest, knowing for some reason or another and without having any means to explain it, the sun will rise another day and he too shall wake up with it brand new. This is only the beginning of something so much bigger than he can comprehend. This fascinating light, heavenly and almighty, brings change and like a holy, it brings peace to the stormy thoughts. Kihyun’s boat sails smoothly ashore, chasing the purple horizon. And soon, sleep knocks on his consciousness’ door and makes itself his guest, dreamless and intense and refreshing all at once.

_Not yet._

 

_all we do - oh wonder_

 

 

Miracle is a word he dislikes to hear yet Kihyun can’t help but think it when he wakes up in the morning with a frantic Minhyuk checking his pulse. His vision is hazy but he can still make out a blurry shape leaning over him, dark orbs visibly troubled and if he could, he’d laugh at how out of character his usually laidback roommate looks. “Dude, you’re burning,” the blond says nothing short of panic in his otherwise raspy voice. Kihyun can smell the coffee on his breath and the first cigarette of the day, a scent he’s come to associate with waking up just as much as with Minhyuk’s person. “I’ll call you an ambulance, alright? I won’t let you haunt me for the rest of my life just because I listened to your dumbass being scared of hospitals.” For once, Kihyun agrees and lets Minhyuk pull him up, despite every muscle hurting and his chest barely having the energy to expand properly. The older pulls out his phone and dials the emergency line, giving the dorm’s address and explaining briefly Kihyun’s precarious condition. With about twenty minutes to spare, Minhyuk helps Kihyun change into clean, light clothes that allow him to move and breathe freely, and searches for the bag always prepared for situations like this.

Riding an ambulance is not as thrilling as it sounds, although Minhyuk looks _ecstatic_ calling shotgun and sitting next to the driver, contrastingly dull and not eager to respond to the million questions Minhyuk throws his way. Kihyun is too busy to pay much mind to it, having to answer a basic questionnaire from the paramedics. Describing how his condition worsened so much in such a short span from his last checkup, naming some of the symptoms and filling in his insurance data, procedures he’s too used to for a twenty-year-old. And, of course, for the last question, “Are you on the waiting list?” Kihyun has to shake his head bitterly, knowing he’ll never make it on any list besides the obituary anyway. Once they arrive at the ER, Minhyuk isn’t allowed to linger around much longer but he promises to visit soon, granted he’s allowed to and Kihyun keeps him updated on that. All alone, the distant beeping of machines awaken his latent phobia again and the cruel memory of that one surgery he had at the age of four replays in his mind.

“Your mother’s not coming to get you,” a rude nurse told a terrified, screaming little boy who was just trying to get Mrs. Yoo’s attention, the woman crying on the phone just outside the OR. Anaesthesia rubbed away all other remembrances of that stage in time and the next thing Kihyun recalled was being brought home in a wheelchair. Needless to say, white walls haven’t been his favorite along the years, neither were nurses with superiority complexes and a tendency to shout at children. Back in the present, he is assigned new doctors, despite his currant one working somewhere in the very same institution, the change further serving as a source of much needed comfort. The ER team is always more proficient than any other stationary ward anyway and he’s sure they’d at least try to keep him alive for a while. The doctors run all the standard tests with a grim expression and are quick to relocate him to an isolated room upstairs at ICU. Fancier than any ward he’s ever had, Kihyun lies in bed happy to have an unlimited source of oxygen at his disposal. The new team doesn’t leave him on his own for long though. A short yet well built nurse comes in the room with a PEEP-mask and explains telegraphically how his carbon dioxide levels in his blood are abnormally high.

“Hypercapnia is not that unheard of for COPD or CF in your case,” the nurse − Dongwoo, Kihyun checks the name tag − continues, gently and patiently as though talking with a child. For a change, Kihyun doesn’t mind it at all. “This mask will help you eliminate some of it since your lungs alone can’t handle the excess right now. If you need anything, just ring the red button and I’ll come back with lunch later. Tea?” Dongwoo spoke quite fast but simplistic enough for Kihyun to understand. His smile, much like Minhyuk’s, is contagious and that’s the only kind of infection Kihyun would like to catch here. “Peppermint, please,” he asks, already knowing the hospital menu by heart. The mask turns out to be unbearable to handle and Kihyun can’t resist pulling it off every few minutes to breathe normally, ruining any possible progress that might have been made to relieve some of the pressure on his chest, too much even for himself.

After further tests, the doctors are still reticent to begin any antibiotics scheme when the available list is so short and so uncommon, so for the time being, Kihyun is stuck with this terrible mask that squeezes his cheeks and digs into his flesh, pulls at his hair and tires him out like he’d been running a marathon. He’s gathered enough of his pride back not to cry about it though, even when a psychologist comes for a rather impromptu consult. “Do you know why I’m here Kihyun?” the man asks, tall and lean and reminding Kihyun of previous specialists who have offered him no hope for the future. He’s too tired to speak still so a shake of his head is all the answer he allows himself to show. The man frowns, a pitiful look in his eyes and Kihyun absolutely hates it, “The doctors are worried about your health. Some think you won’t make the end of the week.” Kihyun takes it with a grain of salt. Nothing new as of yet, nothing he won’t fight to prove them wrong. “Of course, nobody wants to let that happen, that’s why they’re considering adding you to the waiting list.”

A pause. Kihyun blinks uncertain whether what he’s heard is right and he wonders if the hypercapnia has become so advanced it affects his brain, the only organ supposedly left untouched by the recessive gene that brings cf. Before he could bring up that it’s pointless to try that when his insurance can’t even cover a single lobe, never mind two intact lungs, the psychologist speaks again. “For that, a number of specialists must give their approval first, so I’ll carry out an expert psychological insight. With your permission, of course.” Kihyun doesn’t know how to respond to that at all, the few times he’s been in a psych’s office he’s swiftly evaded any diagnosis, navigating with a map in his hand through all the expected questions and letting the other hear exactly what they wanted to hear in order to deem him stable and sane. He’s not sure he’s any of those anymore, but reluctantly, he nods and automatically feeds the man all the answers he’s been searching for, admitting half-heartedly he’s been dealing with depression in between, “But who hasn’t at my age?” and that he’s handling it quite alright.

“Have you ever experienced perhaps suicidal thoughts?” Kihyun coughs to cover up his ironic grin, trying to mask how close he is to laughing right in the psychologist’s face at the ridiculous question. Subtlety ought to be one of the things they should teach for this degree but it seems it wasn’t. “Maybe once or twice,” he tries to be truthful enough but not too much. He still distrusts the idea of making it on any waiting list, even for a kidney, yet there’s no reason not to play their little game and pretend he stands a chance. “Never acted on it and I don’t plan to either. Lately, I realized I don’t wanna give up, no matter how little I have.” After more of a ‘two lies one truth’ back and forth than a real interview, the psychologist nods satisfied with what he’s collected and promises Kihyun he’ll be on that list in no time. Kihyun fakes a smile like he believed him and goes back to his phone, trying to calm his worried mother. He fancies for a second the idea of being accepted, of being given a score based on all these examinations, of dying while waiting for an appropriate donor. Not like he’s got many other options left anyway.

His condition worsens at, quite literally, a breathless pace and the attending doctor decides to put him on a relatively harmless but efficient antibiotic, Kihyun’s concerns about said medicament never working in the past being rudely ignored. On the third day of hospitalization, of being tortured with this terrible PEEP mask Kihyun’s learned to hate even more than any inhalation from before, his texting with Minhyuk is interrupted when the whole medical team swarms into his tiny ward. “Mr. Yoo,” the head doctor says and Kihyun puts down his phone out of respect, in spite of discussing important issues with his roommate in case his mother would come over to Seoul and stay over in his own room. “How are you feeling today?” A routine question he’s been asked at least twice a day by various physicians, however, there’s a different flair when the chief says it. Kihyun’s never been claustrophobic, however, being in the same room with eight other people, all watching him with worry and great interest, makes him feel his few years half of what they actually are and he’s once again just a child in a world too big for himself. He spots Dongwoo, his wild hair swept back in a tail showing off shaved sides, the same smile as before on his lips and yet deep concert in his eyes.

“I suppose I had better days,” Kihyun replies with caution, leaning back in his bed, dirty and foreign. The orderly hasn’t changed the sheets today after he’s spent another night sweating away the fever, lowered only slightly by all the treatments shoved down his throat. “I was afraid of that,” the doctor − Lee Jinki, Senior MD, chief of the Pneumology and Internal Medicine department, the nametag read − says with a polite smile. “Your condition hasn’t improved much since you arrived here on Tuesday,” dr. Lee says, “In fact, it seems like your lungs are no match for this excess of carbon dioxide. We’ve also detected a strange virus that made its way into your blood.” _Sepsis_ , Kihyun thinks. He’s already looked up all possibilities the past days when he could hold himself conscious and focus enough to read, but his eyes are so tired nowadays and his vision so blurry he suspects glasses are in order. _Dead men don’t need glasses_ , he reminds himself bitterly because there’s nothing left of him and he knows. Once infection reaches your blood, it’s over. Septicemia means certain death with no way back.

“To combat it, we’ve come to the conclusion it’d be best to induce an artificial coma. Being awake tires your body too much and that energy could be conserved and used in fighting this infection. Of course, we will not proceed without your consent,” the doctor continues. Kihyun keeps his silence and avoids looking at any of the people in his room, choosing a distant point behind dr. Lee to stare at instead. He’s heard of that before too, of patients with cystic fibrosis being put into artificial comas in order to try and prolong their life. Or better yet, their suffering. He’s heard they usually don’t work and people never wake up again to tell the tale of what they’ve experienced in that state. For a moment, he imagines his mother having to take one of those dramatic decisions all medical dramas show, choosing between keeping him alive as a comatose vegetable and letting him rest in peace. Although he’d usually argue he knows his birthgiver better than anyone, Kihyun can’t tell what her ultimate resolve would be. “Please give me some time to think,” he says at last, voice weakened and tired, coming out more like a wheeze than his usual lull. “I’d like to call my mom,” he mumbles, feeling once more like a child trapped in a young adult’s body.

There’s an eerie stillness that follows, the medical staff exchanging wary looks Kihyun watches with distrust. However, he needs this. He needs to announce his mother and, if this is his only chance, to say goodbye from a few dear people. “We’ll come back in five minutes,” dr. Lee announces leaving no room to argue the brief break and ushers the rest out of the room to give Kihyun some privacy. Dongwoo flashes him one more grin, the ‘ _you’re gonna be fine kiddo_ ’ type but it has no more shine for Kihyun. He quickly grabs his phone and sends two separate texts. One to Minhyuk, announcing him that he’ll be put to sleep for a while and his mother is probably going to come over soon and, ‘ _just so you know, you were one of the best roommates i could ask for. thank you for everything. please tell Hyunwoo too, i’ll tell you if i wake up_ ’. Running short of time, he’s more concise with the second, his fingers shaking as he types three words he hasn’t in a long while and then sending them to a number he knows better than his own, despite it being out of use for some time now. ‘ _i love you kyun’._

When dr. Lee returns clad up with the protection garments required for any sort of intervention, a tray of utensils dragged in by none other than Dongwoo, Kihyun’s halfway through explaining to his mother what exactly will happen. The woman has been crying for the past three minutes, Kihyun alongside her, his heart torn between putting up a strong facade and confronting bravely what could only be seen for the time being as his timely passing or letting his mother offer him some comfort and loving words instead. His chances of waking up from sepsis are close to null, and both Yoos are aware of that, yet there’s no other brighter scenario to pick from. “See you later,” Kihyun says hopeful, the slight stutter betraying his fearfulness. Dr. Lee offers him another practiced polite smile, one Kihyun guesses he shows to every terminal patient, and another medic appears on Kihyun’s other side as he lies down one last time.

“You’re going to have the best sleep, kid,” Dongwoo grins as he hands the seniors a catheter, installed without much of a fuss on the lingual artery running across his neck. Kihyun flinches at the sting, never bearing his throat for such procedures before but there’s a first for everything. And a last. Heavy and dragging him down with its plastic heads, the probe is no pretty sight and Kihyun lets himself succumb into the pillow. “It’s like a necklace,” Dongwoo jokes and lets Kihyun look at the work done, meant to make it easier for them to inject all sorts of IVs into his system. Kihyun tries to smile through the traitorous tears, appreciating the playful joke and Dongwoo’s attempt to make him feel better. He hopes that if he wakes up, Dongwoo would be his nurse again. If this is the last image he’ll get to see, Kihyun deems Dongwoo’s wide grin sufficient to send him off to sleep, even though he’d much rather have another short guy hold his hand for support right now. Has Changkyun grown at all in height or is Kihyun still the taller one? “You just have to rest, Mr. Yoo,” the other doctor with a far receding hairline advises, Kihyun unable to read his name as his vision grows blurrier and blurrier.

_And then he slept._

  
  
  


 

 

The sweetest hours in the morning are those when sleep still clings onto lashes but gives you the freedom to lead your dreams whichever way you want. Not quite asleep but definitely not awake either, this drowsiness keeps you nailed onto the bed, hostage to its power. Yet not many would dare fight it when they could simply find abandon in the pleasure of escaping real life just for a little longer. Most days, Kihyun would indulge himself in such serene moments, resting on the weekends when no immediate task required his attention, allowing his body to catch as many Zs as he’d like. Opening his eyes appears to be incredibly difficult at first, as though each fiber of his body warned him against it, knowingly so as to what awaits him. The first thing he notices is the new arrangement on the wall and it takes him a while to figure out he’s been moved to another, more spacious room. Then there’s dull noise from behind the closed door, the hustling he knows hospitals endure during shift changes. It must be early, judging by the dim light from outside, and doing some simple maths it can’t be later than seven in the morning. There's a window right next to the door, a station for the guards to peek in at his condition and assure he is alright.

With great difficulty, he starts feeling around his immediate space, looking for his phone but the staff must have taken it away to keep it safe. That’s when Kihyun notices several other things, all attached to his body, and perhaps the most terrifying lying at his feet. He raises one of his hands up to rub the sleep away from his eyes, anxious to inspect all the changes playing out in his deep, dreamless nap. How long has it even been? A day? A week? Months? His hand never reaches his face though, hitting a long plastic tube, connecting his throat to another machine in the way. The impact instantly makes him choke and, dear god, Kihyun feels nauseous and dizzy, the monitor atop his head going off at the sudden cardiac rhythm skip and alerting a nearby nurse. “You’re awake!” the girl who opened the door widely states the obvious, a surprised and overjoyed look on her face. She’s pretty, Kihyun would give her that, but he’d much rather see somebody he actually knows. He tries to call for his mother, hoping she had time to embark on a train to Seoul and come see him otherwise he’s not sure he can hold at bay the panic attack threatening to break out. His voice though comes out as nothing more than a hiss, not any different than a man choking or a snake opening its mouth to shout. “I’ll bring the doctor,” the girl announces, speaking clearly and loud for Kihyun to hear. It gives him a headache instead.

The more he lies awake, the more restless he becomes. He still has no idea why he’s intubated or what the other machine making so much noise could even be, however, when he tries to sit up his head refuses to simply turn around. The panic breaks loose then, Kihyun feeling more trapped into this decaying machine than ever before, his screams all quiet and repressed. There’s a familiar vibration on his left side, his sicker lung waking up as well and demanding his entire attention as soon as he’s fully conscious and aware of his new surroundings. The gag comes naturally after two decades of expectorating this green poison clogging up his breathing ways, yet the mucus stops somewhere in his throat and never quite makes it out right. His eyes widen up with horror, the fear pushing him to grab the familiar remote and press on the red button. Another nurse, short again but in truth just as tall as him and with sweet cheeks, comes around to check on what seems to be the problem and thankfully, immediately understands what Kihyun’s trying to convey flanking his hands around like a madman.

“We’ll solve this in a second,” the nurse says, grabbing a pair of gloves and a mask from the entrance. Kihyun tries to stay calm, aware that fretting would only make his situation worse, yet he can’t help but try and escape to no avail. The nurse grabs off a thinner tube, takes it out of its sterile package, and connects it to the one going through his throat, “Alright, I will clean you up now. When I start, you have to cough everything out, understood?” Kihyun nods slightly, shaking from the overwhelming emotions grinding his mind. If he could move, he’d probably deflate around the room like a balloon, a spinning top set in motion and running in circles. The nurse warns him before he kicks off the made-up vacuum and, following his advice, Kihyun coughs again like he hadn’t in a while, feeling everything being aspirated and eliminated from his body. When the nurse stops the air pump, Kihyun feels like he can breathe a little easier but he also feels strangely violated and exhausted. He gives the other man a tiny smile as thanks, not daring to try and speak again. The nurse smiles even wider in understanding. “The doctor will see you soon and then we’ll let your mother in,” the dark-haired man says before leaving Kihyun alone with his thoughts.

There's a new medic in charge, Kihyun concludes when soon another doctor he hasn’t seen before enters followed by a resident and a nurse. He can only tell them apart by their uniform, but also their straight composure. “Mr. Yoo, we're all so glad to see you already up,” the man nods more to himself than to the patient in case. The resident takes his file hanged at the end of his bed and flips through the pages from the past days, updating not only the doctor but also Kihyun himself. There's not a lot he actually understands out of all the physician talk, just the gist of it. He's still in sepsis, although the infection has been diminished greatly compared to what it was before, and the staff appears pleased by his evolution. He's in pain though, the realization slowly dawning on him as his chest burns with green wildfire, a moan raptured from his open throat. The sound, animal and wet, would make Kihyun pee his pants if he were wearing any and if he could control the impulse. His leg feels warm though and the sensation further on applies his sickness. “I assume you have a lot of questions,” the doctor says, finally giving Kihyun a look. There's no more pity in his eyes, Kihyun takes it as a good sign. “Can you talk?” The boy shakes his head, motion obstructed by the many cables hanging from his throat. “I thought so. Sometimes they do,” Kihyun doesn't like being categorized in this anonymous collective but he has no means to argue. His voice has already been revoked. “We'll let your mother in now, she probably can deliver the answers you're expecting. If there's anything you need, ring the red button.”

“He already did,” the nurse comments with what Kihyun perceives as spite. _What's your damn problem,_ he glares still mute but the visit ends abruptly. At least he's alive, the ache in his lungs and the hurt in his ribs tell him so, but not quite strong enough to stay awake for longer than the minutes already passed. The next time Kihyun opens his eyes, he first hears subtle sniffles to his left. The sun has already finished most of its spin,  the light significantly reduced from behind beige drapes and not doing his mother's beauty much justice. He cries out with joy seeing her, but the sound is nothing more than a strangled muffle cut off by the tube pushing on his vocal cords. “My baby,” the woman smiles so wide beneath her mask it's visible in the crinkles of her eyes and Kihyun wonders when did she age so much. The smile though is greatly appreciated by the little kid inside of him, the one that never stopped shouting for his mom to come pick him off the surgery table ever since. Relief washes over him in waves and perhaps it's the only clean thing that touched his body in the past weeks. Noticing Kihyun attempts again to sit up, his mother lies a gentle hand atop his own. She's wearing gloves and the same protection robe the doctors do sometimes, and if he didn't know better Kihyun would feel like an infectious freak in insolation. He does know better though, he knows she is doing it for his own protection so he tries not to resent the feeling of latex on his skin that much.

“It's going to be alright, my baby,” the woman says in a soothing tone Kihyun hasn't heard since he was indeed a babe. Still, it does wonders to calm his nerves. “It's going to be alright, I'm here. And the doctors really know what they're doing, nothing like before. They will get you healthy again,” she promises, the confidence in her voice queer and uncanny, nothing alike the neurotic woman who brought him up and taught him to always wash his hands twice. She doesn't tell him about it at first, retorting only to running her fingers gently through his disheveled hair. It's comforting, feeling somebody else's touch so intimately. He doesn’t try to count how long it’s been since there's been such peace and acceptance in his heart. For once, he lets his guard down and gives himself into faith's hands. The words still stuck to him though, the wrenching _not yet_ quaking deep within his chest over and over again while more nurses rush to clean up the red-tinted fluid rioting against that power. He tries to believe in that mystifying explosion of colors only a delirious brain could come up with. No wonder when sepsis hit him so.

Most of his waking hours, Kihyun simply looks at his mother, listens to her stories about what a charming man his roommate truly is in spite of never washing the dishes, listens to her appreciating Hyunwoo's offer to give her a ride to the hospital every morning and how his friend’s waiting for the right time to visit as well. He listens to her naming a few past faces, some forgotten, and some treasured. All his rascal cousins and some distant uncles who learned of tapered news from granny Yoo and most likely assuming this is just another exacerbation, bombarding her phone with meaningless prayers and cold quick recovery wishes still. Like sepsis is just another pebble on a long path Kihyun must walk barefoot. She, of course, had trouble speaking about it and no doubt refused to tell his grandmother the whole truth. You can’t simply drop such heavy baggage onto a cardiac woman well in her eighties, ready for the last stroke to push her in the grave. No grandparent expects to outlive the offsprings of their own child and, understandably, no parent considers the remote possibility of having to deal with such a loss either.

As days progress, Kihyun manages to focus a bit better, to stay conscious for longer and point at various things in the room waiting for his mother to explain what they’re good for, like she’s done countless of times in his boyhood. He starts off with the loud hickery at his feet that sometimes startles him at night with strange robotic noises. “This is called ECMO,” his mother says, frowning slightly as she tries to recall the exact explanation doctors have given her, shortly after her arrival. She remembers almost collapsing at her son’s door, seeing the miserable vegetative state he’s been reduced to, and then almost immediately being presented with papers to sign as his next of kin and Kihyun’s emergency contact. “It stands for extracorporeal membrane oxygenation.” With the acronym spelled out, Kihyun can figure out in broad lines what the machine’s purpose might be but his mother goes on, “Since your lungs and heart can’t manage to oxygenate your blood like they should, this device does that for you. Now, don’t be scared but − “ The young boy almost stops registering any words after that. Tell a person not to be scared before showing them something and their fight or flight instincts kick in instantly. “There is this artificial membrane attached to you, to your neck and to your thigh,” the mother says, slowly raising up the blanket that’s been covering him so far until his legs are exposed.

Kihyun stares, his hand clutching his mother’s tightly out of fear, not for how evident his skeleton has become without that much meat to clad the bones but for the fact that there, warm and boiling on his right thigh, stood a bulk cord which resembled a blood vessel all too well. _That’s because that is my blood,_ Kihyun realizes a second later, disturbed beyond measure as he stares at the red membrane, knowing now that the warm feeling bothering him all along has been his warm blood traversing the cord, only to be filtered by the machine and sent back into his body. There’s a second cord, maybe ten times thinner and yellow, one for which he needs no explanation. His pulse significantly rises as the electrocardiogram points out with loud beeping but it’s only when he begins thrashing around as though he's having a seizure that nurses become alert and ask his mother to leave so they could carry out their standardized procedures. “Ki, please stop!” his mother calls from the hallway as one of the orderly not so politely shows her the way out. They’ve probably seen enough mothers crying around here. Kihyun does not care for that though.

He feels spoiled and ruined and like his last piece of dignity has been stomped on. His body, the one he’s been born with, wicked and defect and anything but pleasant, is no longer his own and as much as he tries to comprehend the drastic need of being on life support, there’s nothing more he’d like at that moment than to rip it out of him. Grab that cord and pull on it until it’s no longer glued to his flesh. He almost succeeds, or so he thinks, but the medical staff is quicker and their tranquilizers work fast. There’s another long nap as he’ll call it later when retelling the story to those willing to hear, one that lasts about as much as Hyungwon would usually sleep in on a holiday − unhealthily long for a human, if you asked Kihyun. Now soft leather ties his wrists to the bed frame not in a manner Kihyun would find enjoyable perhaps under different conditions, at last something he’s dealt with before when he's been taken for a hysterical man. The belts give him as little mobility as possible while he already feels incarcerated in a matches box as it is, but the doctors are convinced this measure is for his own good. It takes a while, but he eventually reasons not to misbehave again and they allow mother in once more.

With time, the ECMO no longer disgusts him and he even somewhat accommodates with the new savage look he’s been forced to adopt. Hair greasy on top of his head, stubble growing a bit more each morning, skin so pale he could lose himself in the hospital sheets were it not for the purple eye rings. Day in, day out, anaesthetician come with mobile bronchoscopes to help sustain the medicine dripping from IV bags by physically cleaning out his lungs as much as they can. Kihyun, thankfully, is completely out then and doesn’t have to endure all the internal noises, the panic or the discomfort. The white syringe those dose increases each time has become somewhat of a reliable friend and he wonders if this is what junkies feel about their next hit. He has no doubt he’s high as a kite during the procedure, often dreaming strange encounters where he’s digging and digging and digging in a bottomless canyon. Sometimes the walls look more like a cave, ruddy colors shifting to dark greys and on occasion, a sickly mauve he’s seen in biology books depict a healthy lung.

 

Nothing to relate to, he’s searched pictures of dissected lungs many times over and the few taken out of deceased cystic fibrosis patients are nothing but ashes of a normal organ, burned and ruined bit by bit, riddled as though used for practice target by a rookie gunman, consumed by an incurable disease beyond repair. Kihyun’s aware there must be a meaning to the weird projecting that occurs whenever anesthesia detaches mind from body, there must be a meaning to all the digging he’s doing in the cavity that resembles a sponge the deeper he threaded. Still, he can’t bother to search for one. As days advanced and his condition improved, slow but steady, the white solution weakened and he’d often wake in the middle of the procedure, hear the doctors talk, choke on the machine that tickles his throat. _There is some benefit to being intubated,_ Kihyun idly muses. With a surgically cut hole right between and slightly above his collarbones, his mouth stays closed throughout the day if it’s not for the nurses insisting he stay hydrated and drink tiny gulps of water. It hurt like a bitch and Kihyun rarely managed to swallow more than a glass a day, sluggish sips out of a plastic straw hardly coaxed by his mother.

 

The change is obvious though. His stance is straighter, invalid as he lay in bed, his eyes clearer, his mind sharper. Tardily, he manages to regain some sort of control over his body, enough to move his hands and text his friends, entertaining short chats until his arms hurt too much to hold a phone. Enough to reach out and pull the wheeled table closer to his bed, grab a pen and paper and scribble down replies when people addressed him. Enough to crack a smile at the orderly cleaning up his ward in the morning, at the new nurse that takes over every eight hours, and mostly at his mom. The pain still lingers, hard not too with two collapsed lungs which forgot their purpose. Sometimes he thinks he has too. He tells his mother about it, tells her that if things get worse he’d rather die than spend an eternity trapped in this poisoned cage, tells her to take him off life support, and in impulsive foolhardiness, he almost tries again to rip the ECMO membrane off his leg. Her tears are furious and her words harsh as she scolds him for the first time since they’ve been here, but he can understand her distress. Seeing her son in such a pitiful state is not easy.

 

A physiotherapist begins to regularly check on him, show him a few exercises he can do in bed to at least maintain the muscle left, sprinkles a few jokes here and there that gets the closest thing to a sound out of Kihyun’s mouth. He reminds him of Hoseok or Hyunwoo or both, with a little bit of the mischief he’s found very endearing in Minhyuk and Jooheon. Dongwoo visits him often and undertakes his ward whenever he’s got a shift. Seungkwan, whose cheeks are still sweet, often does the same accompanied by the pretty Jeonghan. Little by little, he learns most of the ICU staff and they learn of him even without his remarkable voice. The doctors are pleased with his evolution and he too begins to feel better, physically and emotionally. Minhyuk’s constant spamming contrasted by Hyunwoo’s more subtle way of showing affection often make him feel lighter and take away some of the heavy burden on his shoulders. Biting on his heart and stepping over his pride, Kihyun reaches out for old friends as well, gives his old gang an input on what’s going on without slipping unnecessary drama in between the lines. They can calculate his recovery rate on their own.

 

There’s no regret once he sends the long text, how could there be when his friends are overjoyed to hear from him? It’s true their ties have mostly been deteriorated by his own doing, him and his entire pushing others away as to not get hurt mentality, the bubble he’s enclosed himself in years ago, a preachment on how others don’t deserve to suffer due to his ill condition. However, none of them saw him as a sick friend. For them, he has always been just Kihyun. Hyungwon and Hoseok, both carrying a terrible sense of commitment and true devotion in their hearts to the one responsible for their matchmaking, are quick to jump and offer whatever support they could give. Kihyun would later hear tales from his mother about how tall and handsome Hyungwon remained and how lovely he looked next to Hoseok as they all dined in Kihyun’s former dorm room. Jooheon, about to enter his last year of high school and still relying on his parents, made sure to leave him messages throughout the day, sending him shots from home or random voice notes to distract him from the sterile environment surrounding him.

 

“Ah, you’re both here,” Dr. Lee Jinki appears with a hoard of residents on his trail, their white coats and stone cold faces intimidating Kihyun as his ward gets filled like an amphitheater right before class. He wonders if they’ve decided to use him for a guinea pig instead, administer all the shots available in the hospital and see what happens. “Wonderful, really wonderful,” the man claps his hands together, a wide grin on his face. “I have great news.” Kihyun spots Moonbin among the crowd, a gentle nurse he preferred to call whenever his intubation system needed refreshing, the same gentle smile gleaming. Dongwoo gives him a thumbs up from the doorway, further confusing Kihyun. What’s the secret they’re all in about? Mrs. Yoo raises up from her seat, heart thumping in her throat expectantly at that great news. “Your case has been approved,” Dr. Lee proclaims and hands his mother a paper she almost drops from her trembling fingers. “You are active on the waiting list.”  

 

 

_fighter - monsta x (1)_

 

  
Kihyun takes pride in his memory, a handy tool in memorizing all the formulas and theories he studies at university, as well as being able to recall long string of numbers. Changkyun’s old phone is just the tip of an iceberg made out of complicated digits. It went beyond that in most cases, with a bit of effort he could remember the names of all his teachers and classmates and even some quotes from movies he’s only watched once. One line that stuck with him after Changkyun had forced him to marathon this cartoon together, a line he can remember until today, were the words of a grey-haired man with a mask. ‘ _ Expect the unexpected’ _ . Nonetheless, it’s not an incentive he’s followed, clearly, although he’s always prepared himself for the worst case scenario. What about the best one? Kihyun has never let himself hover on empty promises or false hopes, knowing the saying  _ the higher they are the harder they fall _ . He'd let himself fall once though, for Changkyun, he'd let himself dream while wide awake about possibilities hidden in impossibilities and planned what should have been left unplanned, deeming Changkyun the most permanent constant there was in his life.

 

He couldn't foresee variables back then, eyes clouded with love and leaving him a helpless blind man. In a way, Changkyun stayed a constant after all these months still, his shadow treasured, a black spot on Kihyun’s fragmented heart. His judgement of the other’s importance hasn’t been completely off if at all, he supposes, which is more than he can see about the predicament he is now facing. Not only has he managed to beat the life threatening sepsis, a feat in itself when remembering the words of the psychologist, words nobody had the courage to tell to his face, but his condition has also improved so much while on ECMO that all the required specialists gave their approval to add him on the dreaded waiting list. Anytime now he might receive the salutary call of a potential donor and all the implications that came with that simple notion overwhelm Kihyun greatly. He has a hard time following what the medical team says, all the information dr. Lee addresses to his mother while the nurses, some watching from behind the guarding window, all seem to be as emotional as the crying boy. 

 

Tears besiege his dark eyes, turning them into heated waterfalls and perhaps a hiccup would escape him were his vocal cords not strangled so. Kihyun has never considered a transplant to be an option for him, has never viewed it as a possibility no matter how many times his former doctors insisted cystic fibrosis can only end in death or hanging from this endless list.  _ What difference is it between dying in two years and dying in five _ , he’s asked Changkyun once and how drastically the answer has shifted, variables removed from the equation and constants turned in derivatives still. The brown haired boy has no burning passion, nothing to consume his soul with raging fire now that his love moved all across the other side of the globe, and if he ponders and gives it more thought, Kihyun can’t manage to find a single thing he’s got going that’s worth living for. Maybe that’s exactly what pushes him to embrace the news with an open mind. This might be, in the end, the only chance he’s ever had to start anew. A clean slate for him to carve as he pleases, though no doubt the trauma of a chest surgery and cystic fibrosis shall follow him for the rest of his days, as many or as few as he’s given. 

 

It becomes clear once the hype dissipates that this won’t be easy, yet again when has life ever been kind to him? His mother swiftly handles the papers, decades of desk duty polishing her bureaucracy skills to their finest and making for a smooth transition into the second step, one she swore to handle on her own. In order for Kihyun to start receiving offers, they have to prove having a sufficient income to cover all the expenses beforehand, which is particularly difficult since Kihyun doesn’t dispose of a hundred thousand dollars in his piggy bank for two healthy lungs. Not to mention the additional two hundred fifty thousand needed to sheath the cost of the surgery in itself and the post-transplant treatment afterward. His mother though, ever the resourceful woman, wastes no time in organizing a donation campaign Kihyun watches with wary eyes the action. After all, how many of these get ignored and swiped under the rug every single day? He can’t imagine people willing to help him out financially, especially with such a high sum, and he’d feel too ashamed towards his friends if they participated in the campaign. 

 

Desperate times call for desperate measures and, as much as he dislikes the idea of being yet another charity case, Kihyun lets his mother use a photo she’s taken when he was still sleeping under all the drugs pumped into his system, a photo that upsets his stomach greatly and shreds his self-respect.  _ The true miracle would be coming out of this with some intact dignity _ , Kihyun thinks as he checks all the newspaper articles quick to be published on his case. One is written by a former English teacher who always praised his language skills, the others by total strangers voluntarily trying to help him out of this deadlock. The interviews are far more surprising, from ex-classmates claiming to have known him well to university teachers who paid more attention to the young engineer than he would have guessed. Nobody bothered to get the facts straight by contacting any of his real friends in the end. Possibly, it’s better this way. Hyungwon and Hoseok are the most vocal spokesmen around, using all their available means to boost the campaign to the front pages of local or even national media. Jooheon constantly tries to persuade the rich kids attending his private school to donate for Kihyun’s cause. But when his mother receives a phone, not about a potential donor but about a potential piece of news to be cast on some television channel, Kihyun draws the line. 

 

Days pass even slower now, an eternity seemingly sneaking between a red dawn at horizon and a purple twilight in zenith, and Kihyun spends more time than ever talking to the moon. A beautiful lady, the moon that is, with her frozen scream and gentle eyes, the white glow surrounding her brightening Kihyun’s dark nights. He’s been asking for sleeping pills more often than before, insomnia and stress taking a heavy toll on his mental state. On most nights, the nurses are sweet enough to offer him the chance for a quick narcotics session even before he requests ‘ _ anything to knock him out _ ’. The white anesthesia they administer still during the lung cleaning procedures is a favorite, a pleasant recreation that’s cut shorter each time despite being given ‘ _ enough to take down an elephant _ ’. The moon listens, she cries when he cries, and caresses his face with her soft light when Kihyun begs for it to come to an end. Throughout the lonely nights when his mother cannot hold his trembling hand, cannot whisper soothing words, and cannot see the horror splashed on his young face, the moon is his only companion. The thought creeps on him before he can stop it, melancholic and distant, calling from a time with no return. 

 

Is Changkyun looking through his window at the same sky as him? 

 

There’s no notion of time when you’re living in a hospital, when you’re held alife by beeping machines and when nurses are needed to even wipe your own butt. Were it not for the calendar hanged near the door, Kihyun would have no remote idea how long he’s been tied to this mattress, how long since he last felt ground press against his feet. But the numbers don’t lie, they never really do really and that’s one of the things he loved about them. The calendar is clear and in spite of the drag chronology has suffered under various influences, the date points to the perfect count of exactly two weeks since he’s awake from a week-long coma. And moreover, only one week since his world turned around. Two situations arise the more time he spends on the damned list, two ends clashing and contrasting in every aspect. If his health deteriorates further, if the infection recidivates, if God forbid it seeps into his blood again, then he’s automatically eliminated and another contestant is given better dibs on a healthy organ. If, contrary to that, his health improves so much from ECMO and antibiotics alone, he might be dropped off the list as his situation would no longer be dire or in need of a transplant. With a bitter smile, the fight for survival has turned to a fight for mediocrity, the mediocrity associated with the high score he’s been given once his case has been approved. 

 

It’s so very tiring, following the intense treatment like an army regiment waking up at dusk, putting up with all the impromptu aspirations that leave his throat on fire, longing for real food he could chew on instead of various protein shakes he ingests through the tube shoved up his nose. His mother tries to make up for it, promise him all the fried chicken his empty stomach can dream off, all of granny Yoo’s delicious pies and more, but promises can’t be eaten and they’re cold sliding down his guts. He misses being able to stand up properly, even if physiotherapy advanced so much he could sit at the edge of his bed for a few minutes, his back bent like a question mark, burdened down from all the tubes pulling him behind. The strain of his vertebras is muted in the tight hug he can finally receive from his mother, as are his tears wetting her protection gear. The apex of these past weeks, a consolation for all the pain his body is still subject too, the embrace is still not enough not to miss the sun touching his skin, sprinkling a few freckles on his nose and cheeks. Not enough not to find how terrible life would be without these tedious functions we take for granted, the things that paint us grossly humane. 

 

Every now and then, his mother would read the names of the people who’ve donated for his new lungs, whenever they might appear, pointing out especially the ones who’ve offered a great amount of money with an open hand. Jooheon and Hoseok are regulars on the list as his friends transfer every week whatever they could gather from others, even on the streets, yet it’s not their names that makes his breath hitch for the first time since his real lungs have been basically replaced with machines. Uncertain of the trigger she’s pulling, Mrs. Yoo gives her phone to her son and lets him read the familiar name written in clear letters, black on white.  _ Im Changkyun, 26.000 $ _ . Kihyun stares and stares some more, trying to calculate the chances of there being a different Im Changkyun out there who would be so selfless as to give him what others loaned to pay their tuition fees. Feeble is the answer and feeble is how he feels facing his ex-boyfriend’s name. His mother is awfully quiet and doesn’t say a word when Kihyun returns her phone, in fact, she doesn’t say a word until it gets late and the night shift change requires her to depart. “You two really loved each other,” she whispers, a statement as severe as the multiresistant Klebsiella nestling in his lungs, toughened to extremes after being so reckless around another patient. 

 

He doesn’t request any pill that night, certain that nothing could take away his troubled thoughts or the intrusive memories resurfacing all at once. The way his hand fit perfectly in Changkyun’s slightly bigger one, the way his lips would curl and reveal two precious dimples Kihyun would seek refuge in if allowed, the way he scoffed at everything he considered dumb or how he’d slip English words in his speech without missing a beat, the way he would speak a broken language Kihyun aspired to reach fluency in. Kihyun, like most chronic patients out there, only has a limited number of spoons he can spare in a day, but he’d give them all to his favorite one, no matter whether Changkyun wishes to be the one cuddled at his chest or the other way around. He hasn’t been on social media for a while, some point before his mother’s campaign, some point before knowing he’ll have to endure this terrible waiting harder than any pressure the machines push onto his lungs to help them eliminate the excess carbon monoxide. He’s long since muted all the apps as well after messages started to flood his chats, all these people he’s talked to just once in his entire life wishing him the best and being so pressed to say they’d keep him in his prayers. Kihyun appreciated the gesture, sort of, but prayers won’t make two lungs magically appear on his doormat. 

 

Being away from SNS for so long and having quite a long and impressive media campaign led by his friends and mother, Kihyun’s notifications and friend requests have reached a colossal number he’s never seen pop up in the past. It almost feels like he’s become somebody important but Kihyun knows better than to feed on such delusions, he hasn’t given a crap about being popular online before dying, reaching the terminal stage in cf won’t change that. He goes straight to the requests though, throbbing heart about to explode and the cardiogram shows the increase in his beats as his eyes finally fall among the many strange names on the most familiar of all. He accepts without hesitation and then puts the phone down as his arms start hurting again but not before he checks his inbox. The sour taste in his mouth serves as a reminder why he should never raise his hopes up regarding anything, ever. What did he even think? That Changkyun came across news of his situation, was quick to donate all the money he had in his own account and then finally got the guts to look him up? Well, sort of. But he feels too pathetic admitting that even to himself so he swallows that seed of disappointment with tiny painful gulps. Besides, it’s only morning in Boston whereas Kihyun’s ready to go to sleep, who’s to say Changkyun’s awake at this hour?

 

_ Hi _ .

 

Kihyun stares and stares and stares, and then he stares some more. In this hazed state, he can’t quite wrap his head around this twist, can’t comprehend Changkyun invading his life again like nothing happened, like their separation has simply been a door purposefully kept closed. It enrages him, how it took him falling on the brink of death for the younger to do something about it, to make his existence known. After their forced breakup, Kihyun has repeatedly tried to get in touch with the other, in fact, some would say he was desperate to get one sole reply on any sort of platform. It’s not like they were a danger for each other anymore once Changkyun’s feet touched Boston streets. Yet this rupture appeared irreparable, splitting not only Kihyun’s heart in two bleeding halves but also his entire world so much that things could no longer be described without referring to Before Changkyun and After Changkyun times. One time Minhyuk lured Kihyun into drinking his liver black and they’ve discussed about it at length, Kihyun confessing his worries of being too obsessive over his ex. Minhyuk, in his high wisdom, has helped him come to terms that such feelings cannot be controlled, that nobody but himself can say what is too much. Now that the chat bubble persistently brightens his ward, he might as well have one last chat with the boy who held his world once. He thanks the heavens for predictive writing or his texts might look like constant keysmashes.

 

_ Hi _

_ You didn’t have to _

_ R u serious _

_ Just tell me how u r _

_ Alive i guess _

_ I’d send you a pic but im really gross lol _

_ I bet u r not  _

_ How would you know  _

_ You havent seen me in a year _

_ U could never be gross to me ki _

_ I saw the photo _

_ Great. Frame it next to my coffin _

_ I get ur mad at me and scared too _

_ But its not the time 4 coffin joks _

_ Yeahyeah _

_ Can i call u _

_ If you saw the pic yk i’m intubated _

_ No voice _

_ Ill do the talking. U used to like my voice _

 

The smugness dripping out of those lines makes Kihyun roll his eyes but he agrees to a voice call, no video just to chaff Changkyun. Not that he wasn’t dying to hear the boy talking to him again, he’d be a total liar to deny that, but he’s cautious, scared he won’t like this reality as much as the past. A lot of things can change in the course of a year, especially since Changkyun moved across the world. Moreover, he hasn’t made any particular effort before this to get in touch with him to Kihyun’s knowledge, so having mixed feelings about his ex-boyfriend suddenly writing to him seems pretty justified in his opinion. One of the things that hasn’t changed one bit, something Kihyun knew it wouldn’t change, is his instant reaction to hearing Changkyun say his name. “Kihyun,” a shudder runs through him, not completely unpleasant, “I - God, I’m sorry. But it’s not that I’m sorry now about us or something, you know?” Kihyun would laugh if he could but tears are more likely to spill from his eyes. “I missed you so much but I couldn’t do anything. Jooheon told me about it. Coming to school, sending me dms and stuff. But I thought that maybe there was some point in it, ignoring you. I thought it’d be easier for both of us to move on. I mean look where it got you,” a cough ends his sentence abruptly and Kihyun winces. He almost forgot how coughing feels like when an assistant is required for him to expectorate. 

 

“Fooling around almost killed you,” Changkyun continues when he regains some composure. Kihyun wants to argue, wants to shout at the other for insulting their relationship like that but he has no voice left, he has no means to defend or represent his position at all times and perhaps that has been one of the greatest downfalls of the entire situation. Being treated as a crippled has been one of his pet peeves his entire life, yet now when he could no longer demonstrate the opposite he has no other option but to accept everything addressed to him as it is. Thankfully, Changkyun seems to realize the mistake and after a too long moment of silence on the line, corrects himself. “That’s not what I mean either,” he groans. “We weren’t just fooling around. I loved you, Ki, I loved you so much I really hoped we could make things work out like that, all hush hush. And look where that got you. You’re dying and it’s all my fault.” Changkyun is not one to cry easily so for his usually stable voice to tremble so obviously, Kihyun realizes the other is sincere with this unscripted apology. Again, he wishes he could use his voice to reassure the younger that he doesn’t blame him, that he’s equally guilty of their hubris. More than anything, he wants to ask why Changkyun uses the past tense. 

 

“It must be late there,” Changkyun says with a sigh, almost expecting a reply although he’s aware of Kihyun’s state. “I’ll let you rest, you must be exhausted. I should - I should head to school too, yeah. Good night, Ki. Thank you for answering me. Keep me updated, yeah? Please. I love you.” And with that request, the boy hangs up unaware of how shaken up he leaves his old lover in the tracks of this one-sided conversation. Kihyun goes back to staring at his phone even when the screen turns black, trying to process all the implications this single call has for their relationship. At last, he sends one of the nurses to bring him a sedative, realizing there’s no point in staying up all night creating stretched out maps with all possible scenarios and over-analyzing every single word.  _ When we stay in our heads, that’s scary _ , Kihyun recalled his favorite person saying once and to this day, he still agrees. His mind is a dark, macabre and twisted realm he doesn’t like dwelling in for too long so he gratefully smiles when the night nurse returns with a bitter syrup. On a canvas full of uncertainties, Kihyun is reluctant to call Changkyun once more a permanent part of his life, he’s hesitant to even think of him as such. But he doesn’t hold back from saying that was exactly the push he needed to keep fighting every single day until a donor finally grants him a second chance. 

 

He doesn’t have to wait long.

 

 

_🌹🌹🌹_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> initially, I wanted to post the entire ending today (26th) to mark 9 months since I have received my double lung transplant. however, there is still so much to say and a long way for changki's ultimate happiness. as always, i am so grateful to all of you reading this story and reaching out to me to tell me your thoughts <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for making it so far. the next part will be uploaded in a week.  
> if you have any questions regarding the illness or the story in general, feel free to leave a comment or message me on twitter at @seoulfulnights
> 
> today, just breathe


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